


Call to Arms

by LadyWynne



Series: Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A very dark Hound, Extreme AU, F/M, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Spiders, Violence, Violence against women, bad language, majorish character death, mature means mature, noncon, threats against a child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-04-21 08:15:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 30,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14280780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWynne/pseuds/LadyWynne
Summary: The rising storm finally catches up with Sandor and Sansa.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is an extreme AU that follows with my series. Clegane's Keep is in the North, roughly replacing Castle Cerwyn in my mind. Sandor and Sansa are married and live there as the lord and lady with their new son, Jedrek. They are also closer in age in this verse, Sandor being around 21, and Sansa around 18.
> 
> This fic will continue along in the fluffy spirit of the series, but will also bring in some of the other characters more and the unrest in the realm. I hope you enjoy it!

__

_Dear Jon,_

_How are you brother? How go things at the Wall? I can’t wait to tell you all the news, but I’m afraid I must attend to some business first. Sandor has asked me to pass along that more wildlings are coming down than ever before.  He has dealt with three bands in as many months, even as far south as we are.  It is not just raiders either. One group had whole families, even babes in arms. These last should be arriving back at the Wall shortly. It seems the fierce Hound isn’t completely merciless, although their number is less the men and most of the spearwives they came down with. It seems that something is driving them south. I know the winter is harsh, perhaps that is all it is._

_Now on to happier news. Jedrek is growing so quickly!  He sits on his own now, and is still the picture of his father, although Sandor denies it. I will admit that while his hair is black like Sandor’s, the texture has become a cross between his straight and my curls.  Jedrek is such a happy child, everyone is in love with him. I can’t wait for you to meet him! Jedrek will simply adore you, I know it. Please tell me you will be at Robb’s wedding to Jeyne._

_As for our siblings, Rickon and Arya are coming to Clegane’s Keep after the wedding for an extended visit. It seems that father has decided to indulge Arya’s strange ways. “The wolf-blood won’t be denied,” he said. If Arya is going to learn to fight he thought it best done away from mother. I can just see it now! As old as our sweet sister is, Mother would have Septa Mordane following her around the training yard with a handkerchief and a comb! I can’t wait to see her. I’ve missed her company greatly._

_Rickon is to tag along in the hope that Sandor can tame him; a funny thought, considering Sandor’s own rough ways. Apparently Rickon has grown even more wild since we left Winterfell. The staff live in fear of him and Shaggy. Father says he needs more attention and discipline than he can provide, busy as he is. So, Sandor and I have been chosen to help. Mayhaps I can have a softening influence, and if not, I know Sandor will keep him too exhausted to cause much trouble.  It is good practice for us. After all, Jedrek will grow to be ten before we know it._

_Jon, my dear good brother, I must see you soon. Two and half years is far too long apart. I swear I shall have Sandor bring me to the Wall if you aren’t at the wedding!_

_I’m sending Sandor’s regards and a kiss from Jedrek. All my love flies with this bird. Stay safe. Stay warm._

_Your sister,_

_Sansa_


	2. The Pack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Sandor travel to Winterfell for Robb's wedding. The family is together again, but there is news from the far north and the south.

 

Sandor

Sandor wipes the sweat from his eyes and glares at the guardsman before him.  The man is only a few years younger than himself, but unlike Sandor he has only recently taken up the sword when he joined Clegane Keep’s house guard. Sandor himself has been training all his life, and spent many a moon in the barracks, living as a soldier rather than be too near Gregor. When the unfortunate recruit eats mud for the fourth time Sandor sighs inwardly and turns him over to a senior man-at-arms.  _Maybe a spear for that one._

Sandor stalks around the yard for a time, watching the men drill in the falling snow.  He is considering expanding the guard to include something of a small army. Mayhaps not a standing one, but men ready to be called into service as needed.  It is a big commitment of their resources, for equipment will have to be maintained even when the soldiers aren’t in service. Still, he needs more than a house guard can provide. He wants to be able to send patrols around his lands. More and more raiders are coming down from the Wall and the smallfolk need protection.  Moreover, there is unrest from the South as well. Although there has been peace in the realm for years, Sandor feels uneasy, his instincts making his sword hand twitch. He will consult Lord Stark on the matter.

Sandor gives the men a last sweep of his eyes and goes in to change. There is much to settle before they depart for Robb’s wedding tomorrow. As lord he has many duties, many of which he hates. Now is one example. The smallfolk were neglected by his father as much as his guard was. Even more than two years later he is still trying to rebuild his keep and lands into what they should be. To that end he is forced to hold court. He refuses to do it often, but he can’t ignore the responsibility completely. At least he has Sansa to advise him.  He wasn’t raised for this, being a scorned second son, nor does he have the temperament for it. Sansa, on the other hand, always expected to be the lady of a great house, much greater than his in truth. He knows she will be able to address the concerns of the smallfolk with poise and kindness.

As he makes his way up the stairs he can hear Sansa singing from the nursery.  He smiles to himself and looks in the doorway as he passes.  His little bird is rocking their son, Jedrek, in front of the fire. The child is sleeping. It is such a sweet picture that he stops and leans on the doorframe.  The wet nurse looks up and alerts Sansa to his presence.  His wife smiles softly when she sees him and rises to put the babe down for his nap before joining him.

Sansa

The next day Lady is the first to lope through Winterfell’s gates. It is near dusk, two days before the wedding is to occur.  Sansa insisted on being early to help with the preparations and spend some time with family before more guests arrive.

As soon as her feet touch the yard Rickon circles her waist in a hug. Sansa feels a deep joy at seeing her family, and smiles brightly at her brother when he steps back. Shaggydog and Summer push in with their noses and she rubs their heads before they are off to greet Lady.

Lady Catelyn hugs her next, then holds her face in her hands and kisses each cheek. “How are you, Sansa, my dear girl?”

“I am well,” she says, smiling. “Glad to be in Winterfell again.” Her mother smiles and steps to the side so her father can welcome her.

Lord Stark opens his arms and Sansa hurries into them, delighting in his familiar embrace. After a moment Sandor comes forward. He gives her father a small bow, then they clasp hands.

Sansa gives Arya, Robb, and Bran each a swift hug before turning to take Jedrek from his nurse. She bounces the baby a bit, his chubby face peeking out from a fur hood.

“Jedrek, meet your grandsire.” Ned bends to eye-level, smiling at the babe.

“Aren’t you a handsome lad? Come inside and let me have a look at you.” Ned holds his arms out and Jedrek reaches for him immediately, leaning far out to grab at the air near Ned’s face. Lord Stark takes the child in his arms and talks to him as they walk.

“This is Winterfell, Jedrek. This is your place too. You’re a wolf, my boy.”

Catelyn leads the way, even with family she is the lady, and Robb escorts her. Arya, Bran, and Rickon follow close beside Ned, all trying to see the babe as they walk.

Sansa watches them go, feeling a sweet ache at the sight, and somehow also strangely forlorn. The feeling is short-lived. Sandor steps beside her to take her arm. She smiles up at him as she does so, and they enter Winterfell together.

In her father’s large solar there is a crackling fire and warmed wine to welcome them.  Jedrek is the center of attention, as only Lady Catelyn has met him previously.  He is passed from hand to hand, unwrapped from his furs and exclaimed over, and generally made much of. Her mother comments again on his striking coloration and her father says he has her nose. Jedrek smiles his toothless smile as Arya takes him. She bounces him on her knee gently, like he is riding a horse, and is rewarded with the babe’s gurgling laughter. It goes on for a moment before Bran wants a turn. The babe endures it all with curiosity and good humor. Eventually though, he begins to fuss, reaching for his parents. Sansa starts toward him, but Sandor stops her.

“Let me. You catch up with your family.” Sandor takes his son from Bran’s arms and leans his little head against his shoulder, patting his back gently to calm him as he finds a seat back from the fire.

Everyone else sits down around the hearth, Rickon and Bran lounging in the floor with Lady, who was the only direwolf to follow them inside.

Sansa turns to her older brother. “Robb, tell me about Jeyne.”

Robb gets a far-away look as he decides how to answer.  Their’s was an unusual courtship, the betrothal lasting around three years. “I haven’t seen her since the betrothal.  Her letters tell me she is now as she was then, good-hearted and kind. She has chestnut curls and brown eyes. I look forward to seeing her again now that she is of age.”

Sansa nods, “She sounds lovely Robb. With you as her lord husband I’m sure she will be very happy here.”

Robb almost blushes and the conversations break into groups.  Sansa discusses the wedding plans with her mother. Arya and Rickon talk about their upcoming stay at Clegane’s Keep. Robb and Ned share a quiet conversation. Sansa notices Bran get up to join Sandor, the babe now sprawled across his lap in slumber. Bran pulls up a chair and asks Sandor something she can’t make out, but he smiles and answers. Sansa turns back to Catelyn, content.

*****

The next day sees Sansa very busy.  She assists with organizing the kitchens, finalizing plans for the feast and ceremony. She also helps welcome the Westerlings when they arrive. Jeyne is a sweet girl, and Sansa feels they will grow to be good friends. She leaves the rest of the receiving to her parents, but just after the midday meal she and Sandor go out as Theon arrives.

Ned Stark’s old ward rides into the yard on a fine black courser.  She smiles at the bow strung to the saddle, at least she knows his talents haven’t changed. Theon has travelled with four men from the Iron Islands.  Sansa watches him as he dismounts and moves to greet her father and then Robb. Theon looks well, but changed. He still smiles easily, it seems, is still lean and dark; but he moves with more purpose.  He walks with confidence rather than swagger. His travel garb is simpler than anything she has ever seen him in, more in keeping with his people. Today he wears a grey quilted tunic under a leather-covered breastplate with grey breeches and black boots, topped by a long grey overcoat. Indeed, the finest thing he has on is the longsword gifted him by her lord father. _Theon dresses less but is somehow more, a true heir of the iron islands._ Later, when she discusses the difference with Sandor, he agrees with her. “Aye, little bird. It’s self-respect. Theon has found his place.” She hadn’t realized as a child the toll being a ward must have taken on her friend. She is happy he can be with them now of his own volition.

Theon walks over to them and clasps Sandor’s forearm, greeting him warmly, before turning to her. “Lady Clegane,” he inclines his head and grins before she reaches up to hug him. Kissing his cheek, she steps back next to Sandor and says, “It’s so good to see you, Theon. The islands suit you well.”

“Thank you, Sansa. Married life suits you as well.” They agree to talk more later and he moves on to greet the rest of the family.

Afterward Sansa and Sandor visit Jedrek for a time. Then she joins her mother in her parents’ solar. She spends a snowy afternoon with hot tea and embroidery, finishing Robb’s groom’s cloak and adding a direwolf embellishment to Arya’s dress for the wedding.

Sandor

Sandor is in the yard, braving the bitingly cold wind to check on Stranger before going to bathe and dress for dinner. He is almost to his goal when a rider enters the yard at a canter, his cloak billowing behind, and his sturdy horse lathered from exertion. _A black brother._ A second later a huge white direwolf also comes through the gate.  _Ghost._ _It’s Jon then. Sansa will be pleased._

Jon clearly has an important purpose. He dismounts swiftly before heading straight toward the hall.  Sandor walks to intercept him, calling out. “Jon! Well met goodbrother.”

The direwolf trains his red eyes on him, and Jon swings around, recognition softening his long face. “Well met, Sandor. I must speak to father. Do you know where he is?”

“Aye, in the hall with the lords here for the wedding.”

Jon gives a curt nod and turns. “Come with me to see him. You’ll want to hear this.”

Feeling suddenly grim, Sandor falls in step beside Jon Snow.

At Jon’s request Ned withdraws into a council chamber with Robb and Sandor.

“There is news from the Wall, father. There is no easy way to say this. The dead are walking.  I fought one myself.”

“Dead men walk?” Robb asks, incredulous. “It’s like a tale from Old Nan.”

“Aye, but it is no tale. The dead must be burned lest they rise as wights. The free folk speak of Others as well. Steel doesn’t harm them, but fire does.” Jon removes his glove and exhibits his burned hand, flexing his fist as he does so. Sandor tenses his jaw. He thinks of Sansa and his little son, and his fist clenches his sword.

“And there’s more.” Jon glances at Ned, “Uncle Benjen has gone missing.”

“How long?” Robb demands.

“He went out on a ranging with several others two moons ago. None have returned.”

The room grows quiet. Lord Stark’s face is serious as he ponders, his grey eyes reflecting the firelight.

Jon steps up beside him. “The cold winds are rising, father.”

Ned finally nods. “Then we will be ready.”

Lord Stark bids them say nothing until after the wedding, and they go their separate ways for the moment.

Sansa

That evening the Starks, Cleganes, Jon, and Theon dine privately. Sansa looks around the table and it feels almost like old times. Robb sits flanked by Jon and Theon. He is as cheerful as Sansa has ever seen him, and it strikes her that he has likely been lonely.  _Robb lost his closest friends the day we departed Winterfell._ She is sad at the thought, but gladdened to see him enjoying himself, and soon he will have a wife as well.

She and Sandor sit across from the trio, and Sandor takes part in their conversation, with an occasional aside to Bran. Rickon sits on Sansa’s right, and she spends the evening hearing about his exploits. He occasionally throws morsels uncaringly over his shoulder to Shaggy and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, talking animatedly all the while. Her brother swings his legs under the table, and pushes his too-long red curls from his freckled face. Despite his manners, Sansa smiles at his exuberance and internally makes plans for his education at Clegane’s Keep. _Perhaps short lessons with the maester at first, but he must learn letters and numbers no matter how he hates it._

As the meal goes on, Sansa is happy to see her lady mother speak to Jon directly, asking about his life as Lord Commander Mormont’s steward. Her eyes meet Arya’s further down the table in surprise. They will have to discuss this later. It seems Jon’s absence, or maybe his part in rescuing Sansa a few years ago, has softened Catelyn toward her husband’s illegitimate son.

After dinner, Jedrek joins them and Sansa brings him immediately to Jon. She passes him over without a second thought, saying, “Meet your Uncle Jon, Jedrek.”

Jon seems shocked at first and stands stiffly, unsure of what to do with the little bundle. Jedrek’s feet hang kicking in the air while he smiles and babbles. The babe reaches for Jon’s face, finally catching his nose. Jon’s eyes go wide for a moment, then he smiles and settles the babe against his chest. The man of the Night’s Watch looks at Sansa with something like awe. “He is wonderful Sansa.”

When Jedrek pulls at his brown hair he grins, “Good arm, too. You’ll make a fine swordsman Jedrek. Mayhaps someday you will guard the Wall with your uncle.”

“Not likely,” Sandor grunts out, taking a drink of wine. “He will be too busy at Clegane’s Keep, guarding his mother.”

“Aye, too bad he didn’t get Sansa’s looks. The poor lad may not have any other ladies to worry about,” Theon hoots in jest.

Sandor glares at him, and grumbles, but says nothing.

By the end of the night Jedrek is asleep in Jon’s arms. As everyone continues to talk, especially about the wedding on the morrow, she watches them. Jon looks down at the babe almost wistfully, and Sansa wonders if he laments the life he chose.

*****

Sansa, Catelyn, and Arya spend the following morning with Jeyne and her family. Sansa admires her dress, a white confection in the style of the west, with gold and sand-colored embroidery. The colors of her house compliment Jeyne’s chestnut hair and brown eyes well.  The gown is finished with a wide sash and long dagged sleeves.  When Lord Westerling comes to escort Jeyne, Sansa, Catelyn and Arya take their leave.

Since it is winter they used Winterfell’s blue winter roses to adorn the sept.  Sansa has the beautiful blossoms arranged along the windowsills, beneath the altar of each of the seven gods, and into a bouquet for Jeyne. Robb looks lordly as he stands waiting, his auburn waves catching the light streaming in the windows.  Grey Wind sits by his side, ears up and yellow eyes alert. Sansa sees the way Robb looks at Jeyne as she enters, and it makes her heart happy to see him so.  She reaches over and takes Sandor’s hand as they sit for the ceremony.

In the Great Hall blue petals run the length of the tables, but there are also collections of large seashells, part of the sigil of Jeyne’s house that her family brought North with them.  Many people in the North have never seen anything like them before.

The feast is grand and merry, befitting the marriage of the heir to the North. Only once do the laughter and song halt, as the great doors swing open and a snowy blast of air draws everyone’s attention to a pair of new arrivals.  As they approach Sansa is surprised to see a young boy and girl barely older than Bran.  They introduce themselves as Jojen and Meera, son and daughter of Lord Howland Reed. _Crannogmen_ , she remembers, _from the Neck. Father and Lord Reed are great friends._ As if to confirm her thoughts, Lord Stark steps down from the dais to greet them and see them seated himself. No one pays much mind to the unusual pair after that, but Sansa notices the boy smile at Bran during the meal, a smile which her brother happily returns.

As the night goes on Sansa dances with Sandor, her brothers, Theon, and many other friends and acquaintances from her youth. It is very late when a bedding is called for.  Sansa doesn’t participate, but she watches as a blushing Jeyne is carried away; Robb, surrounded by a crowd of ladies, not far behind her.

*****

That evening as they undress for bed Sandor shares the news Jon brought from the Wall.  It is chilling. Sansa cringes to think of cold black hands, glowing blue eyes…. _Poor Jon! Facing such creatures._ She had noticed his burned hand, of course, but he dismissed it and the time to ask again never seemed to come. A thought strikes her and Sansa moves to stand close to her husband. “Will the creatures come south?” she can barely finish, “Sandor..will you go north?”

He kisses her forehead and draws her close. “Don’t fret yet, little bird. The Wall stands, and there is still much to be discussed.”

Despite how tired she is, sleep doesn’t come easily that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who reads this series. It means so much to me!


	3. Summoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned is called South as the North preps for the unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need a beta! I've never had anyone to read my work. Let me know if interested. : )

Sandor

A page wakes Sandor at first light even though the entire castle had a late night celebrating Robb’s wedding. He dresses quickly, his warrior’s training kicking in, and taking a last look at Sansa resting peacefully he follows the boy. Sandor is not surprised to be led directly to the large council chamber. Once inside he is greeted by the sight of many a groggy lord. Jon Snow and Theon are there, and raise a hand in welcome when he enters. Robb is absent of course, still with his new wife. The page points out the board of fruits, toast, cold meats, jam, ewers of water, and ale. Sandor drinks down a horn of ice cold water quickly to assuage his thirst and wake himself up fully. He then leans against the wall to listen and await Lord Eddard’s arrival. He doesn’t wait long.

When Lord Stark enters everyone rises. He takes his place at the head of the long table and all move to join him, Sandor included. It still feels wrong to be counted in this company. He doesn’t know these people. He is a lord, it’s true, but he has had no occasion in his life to mix with them. Those closest to him nod as he sits, but turn immediately back to their liege lord.

Lord Stark doesn’t waste words. “My lords, there is news you must be made aware of. News from both the far north and the south, even from across the narrow sea. I fear the realm is in peril from multiple fronts.”

His proclamation is met by silence.  No panic, no eruption of questions. These hard men merely wait for the information they need. Ned gives it to them.

He calls on Jon first. Jon recounts the events at the Wall, including his fight with a wight. Many lords add their own observations of an increase in wildlings travelling south, and one even speaks of a Night’s Watch deserter who told a tale of White Walkers before he lost his head.

As the men process this there are questions, but Ned raises a hand for them to wait. “Best hear it all first. There was a raven in the night. The King has called me south for a war council.  As incredible as it seems, a Targaryen has hatched three dragons. Robert fears she will set her sights on Westeros.”

 _Dragons. Bugger._ Sandor recalls Aegon’s conquest, and his mind goes unbidden to the ruin of Harrenhal. This is not welcome news.

The lords discuss and plan for several hours. In the end it is decided that each lord will send what force and supplies they can spare to reinforce the Watch. Jon will discuss the possibility of a haven of some kind for the rising number of wildling refugees. The hope is that such a place will prevent their raiding the smallfolk. Jon nods, but everyone knows the idea will meet resistance. Also, each castle is to stockpile firewood, oil, and prep arrows for being set aflame. If the dead come south they will need as much as they can store. Theon will apprise his father by raven immediately, but no one holds out much hope for aid from Lord Greyjoy.

When everyone understands their duty, they are ready to depart. Lord Stark thanks them and bids them stay vigilant. Finally, he adds, “In my absence my son Robb is the Stark in Winterfell. He is young but capable, and he speaks with my voice.” Ned stands. “Winter is here.”

The men rise as well and a cup is raised, “To the North!”

The chorus rings out clearly, “The North!” and the council is concluded.

Jon says his farewells to his father and Theon before turning to Sandor. He will ride for the Wall at once.

“Farewell Sandor. Give Sansa my love. You and she have a fine son.”

“Aye. Sansa will be disappointed she couldn’t say goodbye herself.”

They clasp hands. Jon grips tightly and adds, “Take care of my sister Sandor. The Others are moving for a reason.”

Sandor feels Jon’s burns press against his palm. He nods tersely as they release hands, and Jon strides from the room.

Sandor is about to follow him out when Lord Stark speaks. “Lord Clegane, stay a moment.”

He turns as the last of the other men file out. “Yes, my lord?”

The door closes and Sandor joins Ned. “I would have you with me when I go south.”

“What use could I be?” Sandor rasps, surprised.

“Much,” Ned sits again and motions him to do the same. “Hear me out Sandor. You are an excellent swordsman, one of the best I’ve ever seen, but you are also my goodson. I need you to be more than a sword. Come south with me and learn something of strategy; military and political. With what is coming, I will like be at the King’s side. I need capable men to lead in the field and advise Robb.” Lord Eddard sighs, “And there is more, I also need another set of eyes and ears in the capital. The place is a pit of vipers, and people will guard their tongues when I am near. You will be able to get a better feel for the climate in the city than I ever would.”

He doesn’t like it. The capital doesn’t interest him, and politics even less. Then there are his plans for the Keep, expanding the guard, and his family most of all; but it matters not, his liege lord, Sansa’s father, has need of him. Sandor recalls his oath and straightens in his chair. All the rest will have to wait.

“I am yours to command.”

“Thank you, Sandor. We ride at first light.”

He nods. He must tell Sansa.

Sansa

She wakes to find Sandor already gone, surprising considering the feast the night before, and immediately she feels uneasy. Her mind once again goes to the troubles beyond the Wall, and she shudders. Suddenly Sansa feels a need to see her son. Rising quickly, she calls her maid, who informs her that her lord father called an early council meeting with all the lords. Sansa dresses and breaks her fast quickly before going to Jedrek.

As she enters the nursery Sansa finds her mother is there before her. The nurse is not present. Lady Catelyn watches as Jedrek sits upon a large fur on the floor, babbling, and drooling all over a wooden toy. Sansa takes a seat next to her mother and they watch the babe quietly for a while.

“Sandor was gone this morning. Father called a council?”

“Yes, there was a raven in the night. Your father has been called south, and I think he means for Sandor to go with him.”

Sansa nods, saying nothing. A cold feeling settles in the pit of her stomach.

Catelyn must have read her feelings for she reaches over and takes Sansa’s hand. “You will miss him, I know. Your father left for war as soon as we were wed.”

Sansa looks up solemnly, “Is this war?”

“I do not know. There is dissention at court. The Lannisters grow stronger by the day, and I think King Robert needs Ned by his side now more than ever. There is also talk of Targaryens across the Narrow Sea.”

Sansa nods again. After a moment Catelyn adds, “You must be strong, Sansa. You can do this. You are a Stark.”

Sansa looks into her mother’s kind face and grips her hand tighter. “You prepared me to be a lady. I will make you proud.”

Catelyn releases her hand with a pat. “I have no doubt.”

After sitting with Jedrek a while longer Sansa goes to the godswood to pray. Lady goes with her and Sansa is glad for her steadfast companion.  Lady’s yellow eyes gleam as they pass under the dark canopy. The godswood is an ancient place, full of power, and Sansa feels small here. Not insignificant, but connected to what is bigger.

Sansa sinks to her knees in the snow and prays that her father and Sandor be safe in the south. She prays for Jon Snow at the Wall. She prays for Jedrek, that he be protected. It hasn’t been very long when she feels a gaze on her. She lifts her head and meets Sandor’s eyes through the rising steam of the hot pools. To anyone else he would be a menacing figure; tall, dark, and scarred, with his sword at his side, but never to Sansa.

She stands and brushes the snow from her skirts as he joins her. _He looks grave._

“You’re freezing. What are you doing out here?” He rasps, kissing her softly.

“Praying. I’ve felt ill-at-ease since I woke. I heard Father called a council?”

“Aye. He has been summoned south by the King.” He takes her hand. “He asked me to join him.”

 _Just as mother thought._ Sansa nods. “I want to go.”

He shakes his head regretfully. “It is not safe until we know more.”

Not meeting his eyes, she asks, “How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think your father will stay any longer than necessary.”

Sansa leans against him and he wraps his arms around her. “I will miss you, husband. Jedrek will miss you.”

Sandor holds her tighter. “Look at me, little bird.”

She does, and is rewarded by his tender expression. “I will miss you too, wife, and the babe. I will return as soon as I can.”

He releases her only to cup her face in his hands, bringing his forehead to rest on hers. In the stillness of the moment the steam rises and feathery snow falls softly around them.

“Be safe, my love,” she whispers.

He doesn’t answer, but kisses her. It is warm and slow at first but builds gradually until they are clinging to each other, his fingers woven through her long curls.

They leave the godswood some time later, arm-in-arm. As they near the gate they see Bran and the two guests from the Neck, Meera and Jojen, entering with Summer.

Sandor

The column forms up in the early morning light, the snow falling steadily. Robb sees them off with Jeyne, Lady Catelyn, Bran, and Theon by his side. Theon has decided to extend his stay at Winterfell until after King Robert’s council. Then he can recount what he learns to his lord father first hand.

Ned heads the column, his famed Valyrian steel greatsword Ice across his back. He will bring twenty good men from Winterfell. It is a small party for such a long journey, but hopefully they will be swift. Lord Stark keeps glancing at the sky and, once mounted, is eager to depart. The direwolves seem anxious to leave as well, trotting and panting with bright keen eyes.

Sansa, Arya, and Rickon are traveling with them until they reach Clegane’s Keep.  Sandor asked Sansa to remain at Winterfell in his absence, but she refused. “I am Lady Clegane, and it is winter. My place is at the Keep with our people.”  Sandor is secretly proud of her, and pleased her siblings will be with her. They will keep Sansa company, and keep her busy. It is also good he can escort her home. He brought thirty men with them from the Keep, but he trusts no one to protect her and Jedrek as well as himself.

Thinking of his guests, he glances over at Arya. She is asking a million questions of one of Sandor’s guardsmen, a man most highborn women wouldn’t go near. _Arya could almost pass for a soldier herself, the way she sits that horse._ His goodsister is wearing breeches, with tall boots, and her hair pulled back from her face. The style heightens her resemblance to her lord father. Arya is even wearing a sword, a tiny thing given her by Jon on his visit. It would have fallen to Sandor to teach her to use it, but under the circumstances she will have to make do with Clegane Keep’s master-at-arms, a man by the name of Ser Follet Snow. Follet is capable, although he was his father’s man, and they have never moved past a formal relationship since Sandor took over the lordship.

As they ride out Sansa could not be a sharper contrast to her sister. Sansa is wearing riding breeches, but under her thick woolen skirts and fur-lined cloak. The ensemble is a comely forest green that would complement her hair, if more were visible under her hood.  Sansa is a competent rider, no more, and he chose as sure-footed a mount for her as he could find for this winter journey. 

Despite the proximity of Clegane’s Keep to Winterfell the trip takes them almost the entire day. The weather takes a nasty turn, with stinging snow blown by a frigid wind. Sansa frets about Jedrek so badly she goes to ride in the cart with him, bringing Lady for warmth. Ned sends Rickon as well, much to the lad’s dismay. By the time they near the Keep Sandor is exhausted. Never have the stone towers been such a welcome sight. They are greeted in the yard by Maester Barger, and immediately ushered through the tall ebony doors into the hall. An earlier raven has the staff prepared for them, and everyone sinks down thankfully on the wooden benches, cupping steaming drinks in their hands.

The whole party from Winterfell will stay the night. This will give him the opportunity to see to a few things before departing for the south, and of course he will be able to spend more time with Sansa and Jedrek.

After everyone is initially welcomed and comfortable, Sandor seeks out Follet Snow. He gives detailed orders pertaining to Arya and Rickon’s training. Arya is to learn sword, bow, and dagger, as well as keep up with her riding. The man will have to feel out Rickon’s strengths, but Sandor has seen enough of him to venture that axes may be a good fit. Of course, Rickon must also be trained in sword, lance, bow, and riding. He will leave the rest of Rickon’s education to Sansa.

Finally, Sandor gathers Sansa, the captain of the guards, called Endrew, Ser Follet, and Maester Barger into a small council chamber. He relates what they have learned regarding the Others and the troubles south, and details his travel plans with Lord Stark. They discuss the castle’s defense and other concerns.

Eventually Follet asks, “What of a castellan, my lord?”

 _He thinks to fill the roll himself._ “There is no need for a castellan as Lady Clegane is in residence. Hers is the final word.”

The man has the grace to bow his head. “As you say, my lord.” Then to Sansa, “My lady.”

Sandor leaves strict instructions; the gate remains closed in his absence. Closed.

Sansa

That evening, Sansa plays the hostess splendidly, but shortly after the meal her father waves her away. “Go on Sansa. Spend some time with Sandor and the babe.” She gratefully rises, and kissing her father’s cheek, retires with Sandor to their chambers.

They spend the first part of the evening with Jedrek before the fire. Sandor lays on his back in the floor, the babe on his chest. He makes faces in a most un-Houndlike manner before lifting the boy up and dropping his arms quickly. Jedrek squeals in delight. Sansa watches father and child fondly. After a while her husband hauls himself up and comes to sit next to Sansa, a squirming babe on his knee.

“I yield. Your son never tires,” he rasps with a smile.

“Not of playing with his father.” She smiles in return.

They sit a while longer in companionable silence, until Jedrek yawns. Then they make their way to the nursery and put him to bed. As the babe slowly blinks his eyes, Sansa and Sandor lean over to kiss him gently. They watch him as he drifts off to sleep, sprawled on his back in the carefree trusting manner of a child.

Sandor takes her hand and leads her back to their bedchamber. They happily spend the rest of the evening in each other’s arms.

The next morning Sansa stands on the battlements with Arya and Rickon, watching until Ned and Sandor are out of sight on the Kingsroad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was some more set-up. Sorry! I promise action to come!


	4. Pit of Vipers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned and Sandor reach King's Landing.

Sandor

King’s Landing stinks. The whole fucking city smells of human waste and rotting fish. _Thank the gods it’s winter._ He couldn’t imagine the place in the heat of summer. There are so many people. Sandor didn’t know so many people could exist in one place. The closest thing to it he had ever seen was White Harbor, and that was nothing in comparison.

An escort was sent to meet Lord Stark at the gates, a few men in Baratheon yellow, but mostly goldcloaks from the city watch. Sandor feels claustrophobic in the narrow streets, with unknown men before and behind him. _Maybe it would have been wise to bring a few of my own guard._ He hadn’t though.  He had left all Clegane men with Sansa. He and Lord Stark would have to make do with the twenty that came with them from Winterfell.  He hopes they hadn’t made a grievous error. _Nothing to be done about it now._

They had made good time on their journey, arriving at King’s Landing in just over a moon.  Ned is the last to arrive, so the King’s war council will begin that very afternoon. Sandor is not asked to attend the council. Instead he uses the time to write Sansa and let her know they arrived safely.  Then he walks the castle, familiarizing himself with the passages, gates, and courtyards. Now that he is inside the Red Keep he finds it odd that there are many more soldiers in Lannister crimson than Baratheon gold. Indeed, Maegor’s seems to be held entirely by Lannister men.

Being in the south is strange. The sun is too bright, the clothing too vivid, and the customs unfamiliar. All this is to be expected, but what he isn’t prepared for are the stares. The Cleganes are well known in the North.  Everyone recognizes them by their size and sigil, and ever since Sansa’s nameday tourney, they know Sandor by his scars. Folk are familiar with the sight of him. He isn’t prepared for the reaction his physique and visage elicit in these southron strangers. He catches men looking quickly away, women duck their heads and scurry to the other side of the hall dragging their little ones behind their skirts. _Bloody hells. I’m not going to eat them._ Some children gawk, that isn’t so bad, but one actually cries. Jedrek has never shown the slightest fear of him.

It all serves to make him angry. Sandor feels his burned mouth turn down in a scowl, an expression that surely doesn’t lessen his formidable appearance. Eventually, he considers returning to his chambers. Rather than that, which feels cowardly, he goes to the training yard. He swings his sword as aggressively and skillfully as ever, besting one knight after the next. A small crowd gathers and he hears whispers of “the Hound” and “Clegane.” So, he isn’t completely unknown in the south after all.

When Sandor heads back late that afternoon he is tired and filthy, but feeling almost cheerful. That is, right up until the moment he rounds a corner and startles a maid into dropping her tray. When she flinches back from his proffered help he frowns once again and stomps off. _I miss Sansa._

_*****_

That evening he and Lord Stark eat in the King’s large dining hall with the rest of the court. Dinner is a spectacle to rival a tourney. The women wear revealing, heavily embellished gowns. They sparkle with jewels and their hair is piled and twisted into elaborate styles. Sandor thinks they look ridiculous. _The little bird would outshine them all._ The men aren’t much better, wearing embroidered velvet doublets and thick gold chains. He and Lord Stark, although they brought court clothes, would have fit in better at the Wall. Ned is seated at the high table, taking the Hand’s place of honor next to the King for the evening. He is dressed in a long grey quilted doublet. Sandor sits at a lower table, and wears his father’s yellow leather surcoat, the one he was married in, with simple black tunic and breeches. In their northern-style clothing, they are both clearly outsiders.

Sandor knows not a soul, but he observes the proceedings carefully as he eats the fine food. The King seems a jovial sort, and he is clearly a friend of Lord Stark. Queen Cersei, on the other hand, looks bored and vaguely disgusted. The royal children are all as golden as their mother. To him the younger two seem like any other children, but the oldest is another story. The boy snaps at the servants imperiously, and frowns if they aren’t quick enough. When an older lady of the court stumbles, saved from falling by a nearby knight, the crown prince laughs uproariously to the discomfort of all.

Sandor excuses himself early. In his chamber he falls gratefully into bed. Despite being full of food and wine, Sandor feels the emptiness of the large featherbed more keenly than any of the nights he spent on the road. He smiles thinking of how Sansa would have loved the pageantry of dinner, and been awed by the Red Keep and the vastness of the city. He wonders how she is faring, and if his son has grown. He even misses Lady. Yet it isn’t long before the weight of the day catches up with him, and Sandor falls asleep dreaming of fiery red tresses and a warm form pressed against him.

*****

The following morning Sandor breaks his fast with Lord Stark. They are to be formally introduced in court today, but Ned wants to brief him on the war council first.

“The news is nothing good. The Targaryen girl is Daenerys Stormborn, the daughter of King Aerys.  There are conflicting reports about her and her dragons, but enough of them match up to make it impossible to ignore.”

Sandor can scarce believe it. Live dragons exist again. It would have seemed even more far-fetched if he hadn’t just learned the Others were real as well. _Seven hells, what’s next, grumpkins?_

Lord Stark continues, “That’s not all. Daenerys has an army of Unsullied and Dothraki at her back. She is ruling Slaver’s Bay, styling herself Mother of Dragons and the rightful queen of Westeros.”

Sandor nearly chokes on his wine. “King Robert can’t like the sound of that.” He doesn’t like the sound of it either. Both the Dothraki and the Unsullied are formidable foes.

“He doesn’t.” Ned answers grimly. “Robert has a Lord of Whispers, called the Spider. He has asked this man to send an assassin after the girl.”

Sandor frowns. Something about that doesn’t sit right with him. Not the killing. You do what’s necessary, but an assassin after a girl? He does his own killing in sight of gods and men. It is honest and brutal, like death itself.

Ned must have read his expression. “I don’t like it either, but His Grace wouldn’t be dissuaded. Robert hates all Targaryens, and this girl is no exception.”

Sandor nods his understanding. Robert’s betrothed, Lord Stark’s sister Lyanna, had been stolen away by a Targaryen. Sandor is well aware of how it feels after his brother took Sansa before they were wed. His thoughts darken at the memory, but all he says is, “I can see why he would.”

For a moment Lord Stark looks at him oddly, as if weighing something, but the moment passes. “There is more. This cannot leave this room, Sandor.” Ned leans closer across the table. “I have reason to believe Cersei’s children are not Robert’s. I have evidence to bring before His Grace, but until then stay silent and watchful. The Lannisters surround the King. Besides Cersei and her brother, the Kingslayer, I hear Tyrion Lannister, Kevan Lannister, and Lord Tywin himself are on their way. Tywin will no doubt arrive with a host at his back. This sudden show of strength concerns me.”

Sandor relays what he observed regarding the defenses of Maegor’s.

Ned nods, then ponders a moment in silence. After a short while he rises, clapping Sandor on the shoulder as they walk out. “Come Lord Clegane. Let’s get this over with.”

*****

 _Something isn’t right._ Sandor tenses as he walks through the throne room, and his hand moves to the grip of the longsword given him by Lord Stark. The Iron Throne sits tall above them and around the base are arrayed the seven white knights of the Kingsguard. All this is to be expected. What isn’t expected are the goldcloaks lining the gallery armed with bows, the small number of courtiers, or the grinning little brat sitting on the Iron Throne as if he belongs there. The chair dwarfs him so completely Joffrey swings his legs like an infant. He looks ridiculous. Sandor would find it amusing if not for the unease in the room and the hard planes of the Queen’s face as she tenses her jaw beside him.

Lord Stark doesn’t mince words. “Where is the King?”

“The King sits upon the throne.” Cersei states calmly, and her eyes gleam wickedly. _Bugger._ Sandor moves to stand closer to Lord Stark as she continues. “King Robert met with an unfortunate accident in the night. I am sorry that I must inform you he is no more.”

Ned blinks in shock. “His Grace was well at dinner. He laughed and spoke of joining our houses.”

Joffrey speaks up, “My father was a drunken fool who died lying in his own vomit. He may have found glory years ago, but the realm has need of a younger man to lead it.”

Ned’s voice shakes in anger. “And you think you’re the one to do it? Your feet don’t reach the floor boy.”

Joffrey stands angrily, but his mother holds her hand up to halt her son and steps forward. “We understand you grieve your friend, Lord Stark. All we ask is that you bend the knee to Joffrey now. Bend the knee and you may leave us in peace.”

Ned gives Sandor a knowing look and straightens to his full height before declaring loudly and clearly, “King Robert was our rightful liege. I cannot swear loyalty to any but his true heir, so I cannot bend the knee now. Joffrey Lannister is no son of Robert Baratheon, but a bastard born of Lannister incest.”

Cersei looks down coldly. “You lie. This is treason, Lord Stark.”

Ned doesn’t flinch. “I have proof.”

The queen ignores this and turns to Sandor, all pretense of courtly manners forgotten. “What say you, dog?”

_Bitch doesn’t even know my name._

“The king must needs choose a new Warden of the North. He rewards loyalty well. Bend the knee.”

Sandor stands stalwart beside his lord and rasps, “I will not kneel.”

Cersei frowns and moves back beside the throne once again. “Seize the northern fools, but don’t kill them. Until Lord Stark bends the knee the North is in rebellion against the crown.”

All seven members of the Kingsguard advance. Ned and Sandor draw their swords and spread out, Ice rippling darkly. Just as Sandor makes his first parry there is an unmistakable _thwang_ and a grunt. The room stills in shock. Knowing what he will see, Sandor turns, watching in horror as Lord Stark, his goodfather, falls heavily to his knees, a thick crossbow bolt protruding from his chest.

“No!” Cersei shouts, and belatedly pulls the crossbow from her son’s hands.

Time seems to slow as a crimson stain blossoms and spreads across Ned’s doublet. Lord Eddard Stark locks his grey eyes with Sandor’s own, and it is as if he can hear him speaking. _Go. NOW._

Ned falls and is still, Ice gripped in his hand.

There would be no other chance. Sandor whirls his blade in a deadly arc as he spins, clearing the area around himself and sprinting for the exit. It goes against everything in him to leave Ned on the floor, leave Ice, to ever run, but he must.  Lord Stark was a gifted swordsman, and Sandor is unsurpassed. Together they could have held off all seven of their opponents, but Sandor is only one man. If he doesn’t break free now he will be trapped and taken. The North must know the truth. 

Sandor rushes through hallways he only just learned to navigate, shoving people and objects aside in his flight. He hears men close behind him, but their heavy armor slows them down. Only one guard tries to stop him, but Sandor runs him through, hardly breaking stride. A part of him thinks of Sansa, the grief she will bear, but he shoves it aside for now along with the thought of the men he will leave behind. Once in the courtyard Sandor vaults onto the first horse he sees. He puts his heels into the mount and races through the gate of the Red Keep. He doesn’t stop, not even in the narrow alleys of King’s Landing. His face set in grim determination, he pounds through the streets and out the city gates. Sandor doesn’t look back.


	5. Lady Clegane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa learns to lead, and receives unwelcome news.

Sansa

Sansa rises from her knees, dusting off the snow. She is in the godswood with Arya, Rickon, and Jedrek. They are taking the opportunity to be together on the rare sunny afternoon, and Sansa spends a few moments praying. It is such a beautiful day. The snow is sparkling with light, and water drips from the branches above them. Arya has her laughing nephew on her shoulders, bouncing him and galloping in circles. Rickon occasionally jumps out at them with a roar, but mostly wrestles with the three direwolves. Lady, Nymeria, and Shaggydog roll in the snow like puppies, pouncing and nipping.

Sansa smiles at the sight of her babe. His chubby cheeks are ruddy from the cold and bits of his black hair peep out from his fur hood.  She can see his first two teeth on the bottom front as he grins, gripping Arya’s hair. She wishes Sandor could see him.

After a while Sansa notices the approach of her master-at-arms, Ser Follet Snow. He stomps through the godswood, oblivious of its beauty, and immediately dampens the mood. He is a big man, though not as tall as Sandor, probably around forty years, with grey speckling his mustache and short brown hair. His face is weathered and tan, and he has startling green eyes. _What does he want?_ Outwardly Sansa is as courteous as ever, but for some reason she doesn’t care for the man. Before Follet reaches them, she takes Jedrek from Arya.

“Sorry to disturb, my lady, but I wanted to discuss some of the new recruits.” He turns to Arya and Rickon, “Also my lord and my lady would do well to take advantage of the weather in the yard.”

Her siblings frown at that. No one could accuse them of shirking their training, and this man should know it better than most. Nevertheless, after a quick glance at Sansa they go readily enough, Nymeria and Shaggy at their heels.

Once they take their leave Sansa turns to Follet. She speaks softly but formally. “Ser Follet, I appreciate your work with Lord Rickon and Lady Arya. However please understand that they have other lessons and duties as well. My brother and sister are Starks of Winterfell, blood of the First Men. Time in the godswood is important. I would be remiss in my own duty to let them disregard the old gods.”

The man looks doubtful. “Seemed more laughing than praying, if I may be so bold.”

Sansa sighs and lets it pass, adjusting Jedrek on her hip. Lady comes to sit close by her side. “You have need of me?”

“Yes.” Follet’s demeanor takes on a military air. “I want to inform you that I am having two of the recruits flogged at sundown. You and Lady Arya may want to remove yourselves to the other side of the grounds at that time. It can be too difficult to hear for delicate ladies. It is my opinion that it would do young Lord Rickon good to be present, but of course that is your decision.”

Sansa frowns. She can’t recall Sandor ever ordering a guardsman flogged. Her husband is a hard man, demanding discipline and loyalty. What could these men have done to earn such a punishment?

“Who are these recruits? What have they done?”

Follet grunts in annoyance but answers, “One is Jessup, a crofter’s son from west of the Knife. The other is Allyn, one of the orphans come to us after the wilding raid two moon ago.”

Sansa nods. Neither is more than five and ten, and neither was raised to the sword.

Follet continues, “They aren’t progressing my lady. The lash will speed them along well enough. They’ll soon remember to move their feet and keep their guard up if they fear what will happen otherwise.”

“I see. They have not been tardy, or broken some other rule? I don’t recall my husband disciplining the men in such a way, Ser.”

“I beg your pardon, my lady. It is my duty to oversee the training of new men. This is no fit business for a woman.” The man is growing agitated.

Lady growls low at her side and Sansa stiffens. “As you will remember, Ser, Lord Clegane made it very clear that I have the last word at the Keep. The recruits will not be harmed for simply being lowborn and inexperienced. From now on I insist you seek my approval for any form of corporal punishment.”

Follet seethes, his breath coming out in steaming huffs, his jaw tensed. In the end though, he glances at Lady and merely bows stiffly. “As you will, Lady Clegane.”

Sansa doesn’t wait for more, but marches past him with as much dignity as she can muster with Jedrek drooling on a lock of her hair. Once inside she passes her son off to his nurse with a kiss and makes her way to the solar. _Infuriating man! He would never presume so much if Sandor were here._

Sansa orders a cup of tea to calm herself.  She decides to write Sandor. She received a raven from him yesterday that he and her father arrived safely in King’s Landing. She misses him terribly, especially today.  Besides the business with Follet, she had a difficult night. She dreamt horrible dreams that she can’t remember, and she is tired. _I hope the war council is over quickly._ Just as she begins to write there is a knock at her door.

“Come.” Sansa rises to greet Maester Barger. “Would you like some tea maester?”

The man nods, but before sitting he hands her a scroll. “A raven arrived for you, my lady.”

Sansa looks down to see the Stark sigil and smiles. It could be news from her father, but more likely it is from Robb. She breaks the seal as she sits daintily across from the maester. As Sansa reads the letter her face pales alarmingly.

Maester Barger reaches for her arm in concern. “Lady Sansa, are you well?”

She looks up. “Fetch my brother and sister at once.”

*****

_Dearest Sansa,_

_We have received devastating news from the south. King Robert is dead and Joffrey sits the Iron Throne. And that is far from the worst of it. I am so sorry, sister, but the boy king writes that father has been executed for high treason. I do not know the details, but I know that our noble lord father is no traitor. This will not go unavenged. There is no word of Sandor. I do not know what has befallen him._

_I am commanded south to bend the knee, but instead I am calling the banners. For now, stay where you are. Watch the Kingsroad closely. Don’t worry, I will march long before any southron force could get close, but it never hurts to be wary._

_I have one more piece of family news I must share. Our brother Bran is a warg and sees visions. His power is connected to the old gods and the weirwood trees. I do not pretend to understand it. Apparently, the Reeds came to Winterfell to help him develop his gifts. They spend their days in the godswood. Jojen himself has the green sight. He has reported some disturbing dreams. He hears a woman screaming from a tower. Also the walls of Winterfell crust with ice as a massive storm descends from the north. Bad omens both, but stay strong Sansa. The pack survives._

_I must go. I will write again as soon as there is more news. Give my love and condolences to Arya, Rickon, and Jedrek. I wish I could be with you._

_Keep your wolves close._

_Robb_

The room is silent when she finishes. Arya is angry. Her eyes are flashing and her fists clenching. Rickon is angry too. Tears trickle down his freckled face and Sansa goes to him, encircling him in her arms. He weeps then, choking out as he sobs, “I dreamt it. I dreamt father in the crypts. I should have been there to meet him. I should have been there.” Sansa doesn’t understand, but her heart breaks anew.  All she can do is stroke his hair.

Arya moves closer to them. “Robb is Lord Stark now. He will make Joffrey pay for this.”

Sansa nods wordlessly, still holding Rickon. Arya seems to understand. She puts her hand on Sansa’s arm, and speaks gently. “I’m sure Sandor got away. He is the best swordsman there is. Besides, if they had him hostage they’d want us to know.”

Sansa nods again and tears well in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. “Arya, could you bring Jedrek to me please?”

Arya turns and fetches the babe. They go to the godswood for the second time that day. They kneel together in the snow, Jedrek on Sansa’s hip. She feels the anger roll off Arya, feels Rickon’s uncertainty. Yet Sansa also senses the old gods with them, closer than ever before, and she prays. She prays for her father, for her mother in her grief, and for Sandor most of all. As the Starks grip each other’s hands the direwolves howl in ear-splitting unison, the sound a perfect echo of each aching heart.

 *****

When they reenter Clegane’s Keep Sansa calls a council of her own. She assembles the same men Sandor gathered before he left, as well as the steward, Arya, and Rickon. She can’t bear to part with Jedrek so he stays, but she passes him to Rickon to hold. In a clear voice, her back straight, she shares the news from Robb.  

Maester Barger is the first to speak. “I am so very sorry, my lady. For all of you.” He looks to Rickon and Arya as well. “What a terrible loss.”

“Thank you maester,” Sansa answers graciously but moves on right away.  There is work to be done.

They discuss what measures will be taken in defense of the Keep and the North. Robb didn’t ask for any men yet, but they will increase recruiting efforts just the same. Sansa instructs Endrew, captain of the guard, to offer a place near the Keep for the families of any married men who would join them. Follet is in favor of forced enlistment for unmarried youths, but Sansa resists such a drastic step.  She will not rob the smallfolk of their sons in winter. Not until absolutely necessary. In addition, a permanent patrol will be placed on the Kingsroad. The Keep will be prepped for a siege, with increased parties sent out for wood and meat. Sansa also orders the maester to train a group of likely women in the treatment of wounds.

The meeting lasts for hours. By the end of it the sun has long set, and she is exhausted. After dismissing the men, Sansa calls the head housekeeper.  She orders the banners and pinions changed to all black in mourning, to be such for a moon’s turn.

That evening the siblings take a small meal in her solar, but no one eats much. Sansa invites them to stay the night in the Lord’s chambers with her and they readily agree. She and Rickon share a bed, Arya in the adjoining lady’s chamber, and Jedrek’s crib is even brought up. As they settle the direwolves do as well. Shaggy and Lady stay in the solar, Nymeria in the bed with Arya. Having family close helps. In fact, it feels essential this first night without her father. Even so, Sansa weeps once Rickon is asleep. She remembers Ned’s crinkled eyes, his solid presence. She remembers his laugh and how he looked at her wedding. She cries for Sandor too, for what he may be going through. It hurts. It hurts deep in her chest. Sansa weeps until there are no more tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry! I promise this isn't going to be a sad fic. It will turn out.
> 
> The story has grown a bit unwieldy. I think it may end up longer than 13 chapters. I just don't want to leave gaping holes with plot or characters. Thanks for sticking with me!


	6. Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loyalty is a fickle thing in war.

Sansa

Almost a moon has passed since the loss of her father. Clegane’s Keep stays busy preparing for whatever will come. It is a good thing. It keeps her from fretting so much about Sandor’s absence or being lost in her grief. Jedrek is a bright light in the midst of it all, the darling of the castle. The servants delight in doting on him. Arya and Rickon are still with her as well, their presence a balm.

At six and ten Arya is a woman grown. Having been a part of the household for two moons she is taking on more responsibilities. Her most important duty is monitoring the Kingsroad as Robb asked. She organizes the patrols and a small waystation. Arya also manages Rickon much of the time. She sees that he attends his lessons with the maester, trains alongside him, and includes him when she leaves the keep. Arya’s sword work had improved tremendously as well. She can hold her own with the guardsmen, and she is becoming quite good with a dagger in her hand, even dabbling with throwing knives. Her riding is excellent, but she didn’t take to archery as well as may have been hoped. There is no one in Clegane’s Keep Sansa trusts more.

As Sandor predicted, Rickon has a proclivity for axes. _He is a fierce little thing._ Watching him train brings a hard sort of pride to her heart. He will be a worthy defender of the North one day. His energies are more focused, but he isn’t tamed. Rickon and Shaggy still sometimes stalk about as if caged. Yet, for all his intensity there is more to Rickon. Sansa sees a depth of feeling in him, something unique and unmatched in the rest of her family. He has an almost mystical empathy, a connection with the Starks and with the wild North. She understands it no more than she does Bran’s abilities, but it is there.

Outside the walls of Clegane’s Keep the war continues. Sansa is sent regular ravens. Robb’s bannermen are at Winterfell now, making plans. The North is not only in open rebellion, but has taken the extra step of declaring themselves a separate kingdom once again.  At this, Robb’s bannermen hailed him King in the North. _He will make a fine ruler._ Sansa is proud and she is worried. She doesn’t think it likely that Joffrey will let half his kingdom go without a fight.

*****

She is woken that night by Lady’s whining. The direwolf is pacing restlessly. Just as Sansa breaks through the haze of sleep there is a pounding at the door. _Jedrek!_ She sits up abruptly. But no, it is male voice that calls out, not Jedrek’s nurse. “My lady! You must come at once. There is a host at the gate! Wake up, my lady!” More pounding.

Sansa throws on a robe, boots, and a cloak before rushing to the door. “Wake Lady Arya and have her meet me at the gate.”

When Sansa reaches the battlements her stomach drops. Stretching before her in the moonlight are ranks of soldiers. As she watches, Endrew, the captain of the guards, comes to stand beside her. “How many?” she asks without turning.

“Around five hundred foot and fifty mounted, my lady.”

“What banners do they fly? How did they come upon us so unexpectedly?”

It is Arya that answers, approaching so quietly Sansa didn’t hear her. “We have been watching the Kingsroad to the south. These came from the north. They fly the flayed man of Bolton.”

“I don’t understand.” Sansa finally turns. “The Boltons are Robb’s bannermen.”

Endrew speaks. “I don’t know the reasons, my lady, but they are here and they aren’t friendly. We must defend ourselves.”

“What do you suggest?”

“We have only a hundred men in the Clegane house guard, my lady, a sorry number compared to so many, but we are prepared for a siege. We can hold out for months against them. I suggest sending a raven to King Robb for aid and waiting them out.”

Sansa nods, turning to Arya. “Wake the maester. Have him send for help at once. Get Rickon on the way and keep him with you.” Arya turns, sprinting for the family rooms, Nymeria at her heels.

Sansa bends down to Lady. “Go to Jedrek, Lady. Keep him safe.” Lady looks at her with knowing yellow eyes as Sansa rubs her ears. She rises and turns to a nearby guardsman. It is Allyn, the orphaned recruit.

“Go to Jedrek’s chamber and open the way for Lady. Once there be sure the nurse is with him and bolt their door. Lady will stand guard within and you without.”

The man bows, “No harm will come to little Lord Clegane, my lady.” He departs back toward the Keep, Lady loping at his heels.

Sansa turns back to look out at the soldiers in front of her gates. She thinks of Sandor, wondering where he is and what he would do. Then she hardens herself. No one takes her castle.

Sansa turns to Endrew. “Send for me at once if anyone approaches the gate. The council will meet in one hour to determine how to proceed.”

Sansa goes to the corner tower and heads down the stairs, intent on changing into a real dress and checking on her family before the council meeting. As she steps from the last stair she hears the sound of battle in the yard. _Are they inside already? How?!_ She tries to hurry through the door, but is brought up short when an arm snakes around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides forcefully.  Sansa feels cold steel against her neck, the man’s warm breath on her ear. “Lady Clegane. My name is Ramsay Bolton.”

Sansa feels a shiver of dread at the name. _Bolton’s bastard._ The man committed the kind of atrocities they tried to keep from women’s hearing.

Bolton doesn’t seem particularly tall, but he is very strong. “Don’t move now,” he whispers. “I wouldn’t want to cut you.” He walks her through the door and out into the yard. It is flooded with men in the ugly pink of House Bolton. The five hundred men out front were merely a decoy, she realizes. It is bloody slaughter. Her eyes water at the many bodies in yellow and black strewn in the red snow. Some Clegane guards are still fighting, but there are too many foes. The castle is lost.

As Sansa looks around as best she can with a knife at her throat, she sees a figure she recognizes among Bolton’s men. A tall man, whose green eyes are looking right at her. The sight makes her twist in Ramsay’s arms and scream, ignoring the bite of steel and the warm trickle of blood it causes. “Traitor! Follet, you traitor! How could you?! You’ve been in service here for years!”

The man doesn’t flinch at her words. He even steps closer. “House Clegane died with Ser Gregor. He was the rightful and worthy heir. I’ll not pander to that cur you call husband. I’ve done you a favor, letting these ones in. Clegane’s Keep couldn’t have held out for long against them.”

“We could have lasted months! Lord Clegane will see you dead for this.”

At that Ramsay speaks up, tightening his hold painfully. “Now, now my lady. It’s all over. Time to end it. Call a halt to your men. There is no need for them to die.”

Sansa has no choice. Many are surrendering their weapons anyway, especially as they catch sight of Ramsay’s knife at her throat. “House Clegane!” she hollers as loudly as she can manage. “Surrender! As Lady of this castle I yield to House Bolton. Throw down your weapons.”

“Well done.” Ramsay releases her, but she is immediately flanked by Bolton guards who grip her upper arms.

The remaining guardsmen and the rest of the household are rounded up and made to kneel before Ramsay. It takes some time to gather everyone. Sansa watches anxiously but doesn’t see Arya or Rickon among them, nor any sign of the direwolves. _Maybe there is hope._ She spots Endrew in the throng, he is glaring at Follet. Catching his eye briefly she shakes her head, not wanting him to sacrifice himself needlessly now. Soon the only sounds of resistance are from distant parts of the Keep. The bastard steps forward.

“I am Ramsay Bolton. Your Lady is taken. Your castle is taken. You serve House Bolton now. My father, Lord Roose Bolton, is Warden of the North. The traitor Robb Stark is being dealt with as we speak. Serve me well and you may live.”

Sandor

Sandor is almost home. He has ridden hard. He knows news of what happened in King’s Landing must have reached Sansa by now and he is eager to see her, to let her know he is well. _It will be good to hold my family again._ __He will stop at Clegane’s Keep for a short while before heading on to Winterfell to tell Robb what he knows.

Nothing could have prepared Sandor for what he sees when the Keep comes into view. His home is surrounded by ranks of soldiers, and flying new colors. Sandor squints to make out the banners. _The flayed man. That doesn’t make sense. Bolton is a Northman._ But there is no mistake. New banners mean the Keep is occupied. The bloody Boltons have his family.

Sansa

Ramsay calls for her in the late evening.  Sansa has been locked in a small room the entire day. She feels a terrible emptiness, beyond her fear. It unnerves her. _Is Jedrek all right? Where are Arya and Rickon?_

Sansa pushes her trepidation aside as she enters the Lord’s chambers. _These are Sandor’s chambers, and mine._ She raises her chin and tries to prepare herself for whatever comes. Yet as she moves into the room her heart drops. Ramsay stands before a roaring fire, holding Jedrek in his arms. He smiles at her as she enters, but she is not fooled, there is cruelty behind his eyes.

“What a sweet boy you have, Lady Sansa.”

“His name is Jedrek.” She holds her arms out. “Give him to me.”

Ramsay frowns and corrects her. “Give him to me, my lord. I had hoped you would be more courteous.”

Sansa grits her teeth. _You’re no more a lord than you are a Bolton. I know you, Ramsay Snow._ “Hand me my son, my lord.”

Ramsay shakes his head. “I think not. We had a hard time getting hold of little lord Jedrek. Your man and your wolf cost a dozen of my own men. If the beast hadn’t been there my men might not have realized the boy was yours. Lucky for him. The monster’s dead now anyway, along with your guard.”

 _Lady!_ _Poor Allyn._ Sansa is staggered, but she realizes part of her already knew.

“What do you want here? Your father is the King’s bannerman.” She watches closely as Ramsay passes Jedrek off to another man standing behind him. The bastard strolls casually over to her without answering, and just as casually backhands her hard across the cheek. Sansa nearly goes down in her surprise, but she remains standing, closing her eyes against the sting. Ramsay wraps a hand tightly around her throat.

“What was that? Did we forget our courtesies again?”

Sansa grates out. “My lord.”

Ramsay squeezes. “All of it.”

“What do you want here, my lord? Your father is the King’s bannerman.”

The lunatic releases her as if nothing happened.

“Indeed, he is. King Joffrey’s loyal bannerman. The Lannister’s have always planned for the north to be his. They can’t allow someone so close to Robert to hold such a large territory.”

Sansa wheezes and coughs, her eyes on Jedrek now. “The north will never accept you…my lord.”

“They will. My father was to take Winterfell as I took this castle. Unfortunately, he did not succeed in ending Robb Stark right away. No matter, once my lord father regroups at the Dreadfort it won’t be long before the North belongs to us.”

Ramsay steps close to her and she feels herself tense as he runs a finger down her already swelling cheek. “Especially since I have the would-be king’s own sister and nephew.”

Suddenly Sansa is angry and the words spill out. “If you hurt us you’ll pay. My husband will make you wish you’d never been born.” _He has to be alive._ “My brother is King in the North. A Stark won’t be defeated by the likes of you.”

Ramsay draws back with a snarl and takes Jedrek again. He holds her son out with both hands, facing her. The babe reaches for her and Ramsay grips him tighter, making him wail and kick. The anger leaves her as quickly as it arrived, and her heart breaks at her boy’s tears. “I only need one hostage. Do you understand me?” His voice is slow, as if speaking to a child. “You will behave yourself. You will not try to escape. You belong to me.”

Tears stream down Sansa’s face as she nods, desperate for her son. “Yes,” she gasps. “Please, my lord. Give him to me.”

Ramsay sneers. “Mayhaps later, if you are a good girl.”

Sandor

Sandor goes wide around Clegane’s Keep, heading for Winterfell. He needs to know what’s going on, and Sansa needs his help. As the trail enters a forest he is halted by a shout. He reins up, twisting in the saddle to look around, and draws his sword.

“Sandor, goodbrother, it’s us!” He is shocked to see a tousled Arya and Rickon emerging from the trees, followed by Shaggy and Nymeria.

He dismounts and quickly walks over to them, sheathing his sword again. “What’s happened? Where is Sansa? Where is Jedrek?” He stops for a moment, looking them over. They are filthy, their clothes blood-spattered and torn. “Are you all right?”

Arya nods. “The Bolton bastard took the Keep. He has Sansa and Jedrek.” Rage takes Sandor at hearing his fears confirmed. He’s heard of this bastard, each rumor worse than the last. Ned had meant to do something about the man as soon as he returned from King’s Landing. His family cannot be allowed to remain with the rat for a moment. _I’ll gut him if he hurts them._

“We would be there too if the maester hadn’t gotten us out,” Arya continues. “We feared you were dead.”

“I nearly was. We were ambushed in the throne room.” He pauses. “You heard about your father?” Arya nods. “I’m sorry, wolf-girl.”

Before she can reply Rickon breaks in as if they hadn’t been talking. “They killed Lady!” Sandor looks down to see a tear streak the boy’s grimy cheek. Rickon is trembling in his rage. “I felt it.” _Hells._ _Sansa is alone then._

Sandor doesn’t question what Rickon says. He turns to him and puts his hand on the boy’s small shoulder. “Lady was a loyal friend. She did her duty.” He crouches down so he is on Rickon’s level, speaking in an even voice. “And Bolton will pay for what he’s done. We will see to it.”

Rickon glances at Arya, straightens, and sets his mouth into a determined line. “Aye. We will.”

Sandor helps Arya mount and puts Rickon behind her. Arya has her sword and he gives Rickon a dagger. “Ride for Winterfell. Robb needs to know what happened here. Don’t trust anyone. If you hear people coming, hide.”

“We got a raven away. With any luck Robb already knows. What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to get my family back."


	7. Loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ramsay holds Clegane's Keep and Sansa. Sandor is determined to get inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings. I added a noncon tag because although there isn't rape per se, there is nonconsensual touching and sadistic violence including an extreme loss of power. This isn't the fluff you may be used to from me so heed the warnings.

Sansa

The second day of his occupation Ramsay brings her out to the yard. _He wants to parade me before the castle folk._ As she steps out onto the steps in front of the hall she stops in shock and nearly gags. The battlements have been decorated, not with heads, but with the bodies of three flayed servants. Sansa can’t tell who they had been, and she looks away, trying not to lose her stomach. So, this was how Ramsay spent that first day.

The household is assembled once again, this time to witness punishments.  Ramsay said he would spare those who agreed to serve him, but anyone who had taken up arms against his men were to be punished accordingly first. It is a horrific day. Sansa stands stoically between Bolton guards as one by one her remaining house guard are led to the center of the yard, stripped to the waist, and chained against a tall post erected there. They each get thirty lashes, one for each of the men the Bolton’s had lost. She watches without turning away, for them. Follet does much of the whipping himself, and to her disgust, he seems to relish it. _I had no idea such a monster lived under my roof._ There isn’t much defiance, but as Endrew is brought forward he shrugs out of the grasp of those leading him, turns to face her, and bows deeply. She sees an apology in his eyes, although he had done nothing to regret. Sansa nearly weeps.

Sandor

Sandor had walked through the night, using the forest as cover until he reached the place it came closest to the Keep and the surrounding village. What he sees from the trees repulses him, flayed bodies glistening red from the battlements, the crows on them. Throughout the day he hears screams, and he reaches a new level of ire. Men shriek, the sound punctuated by the cracking of a whip. He grits his teeth, thinking of the young recruits he recently took on.  

The thought of Sansa witnessing this, being a prisoner in what should be her sanctuary, makes him sick. The thought of Ramsay Bolton anywhere near her makes him wroth. And his son. _Is Jedrek safe?_ Waiting is the hardest thing he has ever done, yet he must delay until nightfall. As a soldier he is well used to it, and he even forces himself to sleep a little, but only years spent in the ranks make that possible.

As evening comes once again, Sandor sees the villagers trickling back out to their homes, mostly women. They hold onto one another, well past tears. When it is fully dark he pulls his hood up and keeps to the shadows, moving toward Clegane’s Keep, and cursing that he was forced to flee King’s Landing without his armor. The small postern is still open, but it won’t be for long. When the smallfolk are out it will be closed for the night. He approaches the gate as quietly as possible, looking around the corner of a hut at his goal.  He doesn’t see any guards in the torchlight, but the last thing he wants is to draw attention before he gets to Sansa. Sandor decides to make a go for it when he feels a hand on his arm. In seconds the stranger is against the wall, a dirk to his throat.

“M’lord, you can’t go that way,” a soft voice comes from the darkness. _A woman._ He loosens his grip slightly and lets his eyes adjust. A familiar round face comes into view, brown eyes wide. _Ivy? No, Iris._ The young woman is a housemaid in the Keep. Sansa is fond of her, if he recalls correctly. “There’s guards posted just inside, m’lord. You won’t get through without a fight.”

He releases her and rasps, “I have to take the chance.” Then before he can stop himself. “What do you know of Lady Sansa and Jedrek?”

“Come away first, m’lord. ‘Tis not safe here.”

Sandor glances at the postern, conflicted; but in the end, he follows the woman. She winds among the huts until they are deep in shadows under the very walls of the castle, close to a corner tower. When it seems that she will continue without stopping Sandor grabs her arm and pushes her against the stone wall, not too roughly, but she trembles just the same.

In a hoarse whisper, so as not to draw the attention of anyone on the battlements far above, he snarls, “Speak woman. Tell me what you know.”

“The Boltons came in the night, m’lord. My husband Sil, he is one ‘o your guard, he said Lady Sansa had the Keep well stocked for a siege, but they was let in.”

He leans close to better see her face, “Who by?”

His scowl must frighten the woman, because she gulps and begins to cry. “It were Ser Follet, the master-at-arms. He done the whipping today too. They flogged all the boys in the yard…. my poor Sil, and me just watching. I couldn’t do anything.” Iris looks away then, down toward his boots. “But I was a lucky one, m’lord. Lord Bolton and his men chose some of the girls for…other things.”

Sandor clenches his jaw. _I can’t wait to get my hands on these buggers._ The smallfolk should have been safe in Clegane’s Keep. He thought they would be, with Gregor gone.“Tell me about Lady Sansa.”

Iris takes a deep breath. “She were at the whipping, m’lord. She had to stand and watch, same as the rest of us.”

“Was she hurt?”

“She had bruises, m’lord.” Iris hesitates, but at his stern gaze she goes on. “Bruises on her face and neck.”

Sandor is so angry he wants to punch the wall. Highborn captives are usually shown respect, but this Ramsay is an evil sort. Sandor keeps himself under control, barely, and grinds out. “Did you see Jedrek? Was he with his mother?”

Iris hangs her head. “No m’lord. No one has seen the lad.”

Sandor straightens abruptly. _I have to get in there. I should never have listened to this woman. What was I thinking?_

Iris watches him for a moment. “I can get you in.” Sandor looks doubtful and she rushes to speak. “Please m’lord. Let me help you. My Sil is in there. This is our home too. And a right proper one since you and Lady Sansa took over. I know just where to go. The women whisper it were the maester got Lady Arya and little Lord Stark out. Please let me try! If it doesn’t work you can do what you must.”

Loathe as he is to admit it, Sandor really has no better plan. He steps close to her one more time. “You know what happens if we are caught.”

Iris glances up to where one of the flayed corpses is illuminated by torchlight. She squares her shoulders. “I know.”

Sandor wastes no more words, but gestures her to lead on. They stay in the shadows until they reach the maester’s tower. He sees immediately how the Starks escaped. A hut has been built right up against the castle. He would never have allowed it had he been in the Keep. The hut isn’t nearly tall enough to reach the battlements, but it is an easy fall from the large window the ravens are released from. Arya and Rickon could have hung out the window and then fallen to the roof without breaking any bones.

As Sandor climbs onto the hut, Iris goes to the door to make sure those inside stay silent. He must be quick before a patrolman sees. Once on the roof he has to take the risk of getting the maester’s attention. _I hope Barger is in there. Hope he is the only one in there._ He raps on the shutter of the small window he can reach, only a slit for an archer really. When the wood opens he is relieved to see Maester Barger looking out. After that, he is inside within a matter of minutes.

The maester bows when he has pulled himself into the rookery. “Welcome home, Lord Clegane.” He rises, chain clinking softly. “Turn around for a welcome sight, my lord.”

Sandor looks out through the window he just climbed in. An army is emerging from the trees. The corner of his mouth curls up. _Well met, goodbrother._

Sansa

After enduring the terrible display in the yard Sansa is drained.  She feels empty and weak as her guards escort her back inside the Keep, so she doesn't notice at first that they aren’t going back to the small room she has been kept in. Instead they lead her to the Lord's chambers.  _Mayhaps I will see Jedrek again!_ Sansa is nearly frantic with worry for her son.  She herself has not been fed since the castle fell.  If her dear babe is receiving the same treatment he could be near death. 

However, when she enters neither Jedrek nor Ramsay are present. Instead, she is led through the solar to the Lady's chamber. Upon entering her eye is immediately drawn to the change in the room and she tenses. A metal ring has been installed high up on the stone wall. Sansa shakes her head and balks, but a guard's hand presses on her back. "Don't make this hard, m'lady," the ugly man speaks from under his helm. "We all must obey Lord Bolton."

Sansa doesn't move after that. She thinks of her son as the man removes her heavy cloak, leaving her in the night dress she still wears. She thinks of Sandor's strong arms wrapped around her as she is positioned under the ring with her back to the wall. When the second man pulls a length of rope from his cloak Sansa begins to tremble, and steadies herself with thoughts of Lady. When he fixes the rope to a wrist a tear escapes. By the time they leave her Sansa is suspended by rope that loops through the ring on the wall. Her hands are above her and she balances on the balls of her feet.

When Ramsay comes to her it is well past nightfall and her muscles are shaking from the strain. As soon as he enters she asks, "My lord, how is my son? Let me see him. Please."

Ramsay strolls forward, like a cat stalking prey. "I do like the sound of that word from your lips, whore, but no."  Standing next to her he slowly draws a thin blade, making sure she can see it glint in the firelight. "Finally, I have time to play properly, and we won’t be interrupted."

Sansa feels panic tighten her chest. She casts her eyes about the room in desperation, not wanting to look at the knife for fear she will come undone. Her gaze falls on her dressing table. There, folded neatly next to her jewelry box, is the favour she once made Sandor. She can see part of the weirwood embroidery and the three dogs of her house. That very piece of linen bound her and Sandor as man and wife. Sansa locks eyes on it, drawing strength from the material as if Sandor himself were near. She had begun to despair for him, but she pushes that aside.  _Sandor is The Hound. He will not be defeated, nor will I._

She takes deep, clarifying breaths and then lifts her head in defiance. She knows what Ramsay is and what will happen, but she won’t cower. _Don’t let him see your fear._ "You gained this castle by treachery, but you won't hold it long. Our people will never truly accept you, and when Lord Clegane returns you will pay dearly.”

Ramsay actually smiles, and it is far more disconcerting than his anger would have been. First, he moves to her side. Starting with the cuff of her sleeve he slits the night dress all the way to the hem. Icy tendrils of dread snake through her. _No, no, no, no, no, no._ Then he moves to her other side and works methodically until the garment falls away, leaving only her smallclothes. Shame replaces her courage. The bastard looks her over, more in contemplation than lust. He runs an open hand up her body, making her cringe.  

Then he uses his blade, starting at her elbow where it is forced above her head, the sharp edge slicing a burning, stinging trail along her arm and down, bumping over each rib. Sansa bites her lip at first, but soon she is screaming. She is screaming and Ramsay is grinning. When he stops Sansa falls, all her weight now supported by her wrists. She can barely register anything through the pain. Her first coherent thought is, rather stupidly, _I’ll scar._

She is not given time to recover. Ramsay raises the knife for what looks to be a vicious downward slash, and Sansa starts to turn her face away; but before it falls the bastard’s arm is caught in a powerful grip. In a flash Sansa’s blue eyes meet grey ones. Relief floods her.

Sandor twists Ramsay’s arm hard behind his back. His dirk is moving to pierce Bolton’s gut when Sansa shouts, “No! Sandor, no! We must have Jedrek first.”

Sandor’s thrust halts, the point of the dirk pressing into Ramsay’s soft side. The Hound grunts, then pulls Ramsay around and punches him in the face so hard bones crack. The smaller man goes down and Sandor is on him in an instant, straddling him. Her Hound’s scars stand out red in his fury and he punches Ramsay again and again, the man’s blood spattering his face. Then he takes the thin knife from where it had fallen and cuts the same long trail Sansa is marked with. Sandor does a slower and deeper job of it, and Ramsay’s screams ring out through his broken mouth.

Sansa does not recoil from the gore, but when she thinks he may hear her she calls, “Sandor.”

Sandor

The red haze recedes from his vision at Sansa’s soft voice. He looks up to see blood running in rivulets down her exposed white skin. At his gaze Sansa weakly tries to regain her footing and his heart breaks. He knows her well. _She wants to be strong for me, to spare me._ He is up in an instant and hauls the pulp that is Ramsay Bolton up with him. He flings the man in a corner near Sansa where he can keep an eye on him and goes to her. She smiles up at him faintly.

“Little bird.” He takes her weight as gently as he can in his left arm and saws at the ropes restraining her with his right. When he breaks through she falls. He catches her, lifting her into his arms, and asks, “Sansa, where is Jedrek?”

She shakes her head, an anguished expression on her face. “He wouldn’t tell me. Oh Sandor, we must find him. Now.” It is more urgent than she knows. His attuned ears have heard what she has not. Battle.

“We will.” He sets her down on the bed and kisses her hand gently in reassurance. Sandor unties the remnants of rope from her fragile wrists. Her cut needs seen to but there isn’t time now. “Find something to put on. I can’t leave you alone.”

At her nod he turns back to the bastard, flipping him around and tying his hands roughly behind him. Pulling Ramsay up he holds him by the throat and growls, inches from his face, “Where is my son?”

***** 

The knife to Ramsay’s throat is enough to convince the guards to release Jedrek and his nurse. Sansa rushes forward and takes the babe, kissing all over his beautiful face as tears of happiness spill down her cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! This was difficult to write


	8. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is safe again and Sandor is home. Now it's time to set things to rights.

Sandor

Sandor leaves Sansa, Jedrek, and Ramsay in the maester’s tower. He doesn’t like it. Maester Barger has proven loyal but he is no fighter. _No other choice._ The Hound has bloody work to do, and Sansa would not be safe.

Sandor first makes his way to where his men are being held prisoner. He only has to kill one gaoler to free them. Endrew, the captain of the guard steps forward and bows slightly, his flogged back making it awkward and painful. “Gods, but it is good to see you, my lord.”

Sandor grunts in acknowledgement. “Can you men fight?”

Endrew looks at the faces of the men behind him, “Aye. We’re able enough, and more than willing.”

Sandor keeps most of the men with him, but sends several to guard the maester’s tower through the long night to come.

The battle is brutal but brief. They manage to open the north gate. He holds the portcullis winch from being retaken with Endrew by his side.

When Grey Wind comes in, his maw covered in gore, Sandor knows the battle is won. Robb rides through only a moment later, Theon by his side and Stark men behind them. Sandor sweeps his gaze around himself, and seeing no more foes he lowers his bloody sword. Robb dismounts and they clasp arms. Robb meets his eyes, “Sansa?”

“She and Jedrek are safe,” he rasps.

Robb nods thankfully. “Thank the gods for that. We have much to discuss Sandor.”

“Aye,” then pointedly, bowing his head slightly, “my Lord Stark.”

“Actually,” Theon breaks in, his face uncharacteristically sober from battle, “the correct address for the King in the North is ‘Your Grace.’”

 *****

It is close to dawn when Sandor returns to their chambers. It has been a long night, but Ramsay, Follet, and many of the Bolton leaders are safely chained. Sandor runs his hand back through his hair and quietly goes to the water basin to clean up. Sansa is surely asleep by now, and he doesn’t want to wake her after what she’s been through.

But when he turns around Sansa is watching him, sitting up and holding a sweet Jedrek as he sleeps. _She must be exhausted, yet she is waiting for me._ He moves to sit on the side of the bed.

“You should be resting, little bird,” he rasps, taking the babe from her. He has missed his son terribly. _The boy has grown._ Having Jedrek finally cradled safely against him brings a sense of peace and belonging. _Home at last._

“Is all well outside?” Sansa asks, blue eyes peering up at him anxiously.

He looks at her before answering.  His Sansa is thinner than when he left her. The red hair he loves so much appears dull in the gloom, and though she has been tended and bathed, she still exudes an aura of fragility, like she is covered in a thin skim of ice that could crack at any moment. _She is changed. She has suffered._ Sansa has done well, but he sorely wishes she could have simply been a new mother, taking on those challenges instead of the trials of grief and conflict and harm.

“Aye, love. All is well.”

Sansa scoots as close as possible to him, wrapping her arms around his bicep and leaning her head on his shoulder. Sandor kisses the top of it, and when he does she tilts her head back to meet his lips. He kisses her gently and long, and she grips his arm even more tightly.  

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Sansa whispers. “I worried for you. So much has happened; Father, Lady,” she shudders, “Ramsay.”

“I know, little bird. I’m sorry.” When he notices tears threatening to fall Sandor disentangles himself and rises. “I’ll only be a moment.”

As he moves toward the door Sansa calls, “Wait. Don’t take Jedrek. He can stay with us.”

He looks back at her on the bed, at her bruised and pale face, wringing her hands. He almost gives in, but shakes his head. “He will be fine, Sansa. There are four Winterfell men on our door, and there will be four on his. Theon has the command through the night.” Sansa still looks unsure so he holds her gaze. “Trust me.”

She nods, and he takes Jedrek to the nursery. When he returns Sandor strips down to his smallclothes before joining Sansa under the furs. She immediately burrows into him. He wraps his arms around her, mindful of her bandages. He finds that she is trembling, so he holds her closer still. Then Sansa begins to sob, releasing all the emotion of the last two moons. She is strong, he knows, she was strong for Jedrek and Rickon and their people. It gives him an odd sense of pride that she can let go with him. Sansa weeps out so much, her relief and her grief and her regret. She gasps apologies. She is the Lady. It is her fault people died.

Sandor holds her tightly through it all, stroking her hair and back, and rumbles deep and soothingly. “You are an astounding woman, Sansa. No one could have done more. No one. None of this is your fault. I’m so proud of you, Sansa. You did everything right.”

At last she quiets and he kisses her tear-stained cheeks. Sansa responds by moving her hands to cup his face. As she looks at him a new intensity builds in her eyes. And when she kisses him, it is a hungry, urgent thing. Sandor responds eagerly, understanding her need. _It has been too long._ He answers her in kind, curling his fingers through her hair and tugging. His lips move to her exposed neck, kissing and sucking, making her his once again. _My woman._ He has missed her as much as she him.

Tonight, their lovemaking is possessive and affirming. They remove what they are wearing quickly and Sandor lets his hands roam insistently over the entirety of her body, erasing any lingering trace of unwelcome touches. He doesn’t want to aggravate her injury, so he shows her how to sit astride him, giving her control. He glories in her as she moves, utterly uninhibited. He is the only one who will ever see Sansa like this, make her feel like this. It is exhilarating. He feels like a king. When he senses she is close Sandor sits up and pulls her to him, both crying out as they clutch each other and find release.

 *****

Sandor wakes with the sun shining brightly through the cracks in the shutters. He slept much later than he intended. As his mind clears he realizes Sansa is lying half on top of him, with an arm and a leg thrown over him. He smiles softly. _I’d not complain about waking this way every day._ When he tries to gently shift her Sansa’s eyes open lazily and she smiles. Sandor looks into the deep blue pools he adores. _She is always beautiful in the morning light. The rest has done her good._

Sansa tightens her hold on him. “Stay,” she murmurs, kissing his chest.

He chuckles and smooths her tousled hair back from her face. “We’re hosting the King in the North, little bird, and I’ve slept half the day away.”

“Robb will understand.” Sandor shakes his head, but tilts her chin up and kisses her. When he rises she makes a dissatisfied sound, but sits up as well, wincing at her cut side.

The movement blights Sandor’s happiness. “Go slowly, Sansa. Your dressings have soaked through.  I’ll call for a bath and the maester. Don’t come down until you’re good and ready.”

Sansa swings her legs off the side of the bed. “I’ll try to hurry. I think Robb will want to see me.” She stands and reaches for a robe.

“King or not, he’ll keep.”

Sandor washes quickly and dresses, Sansa’s nearness helping his cheer to return. Before leaving he kisses her once more, pulling her close and letting his hand slide down to her bottom. He can feel her smile against his mouth and thinks for the hundredth time that he doesn’t deserve her. “Hells woman, but it is good to be home.” With that he gives her a light pat and is gone.

Sandor finds Robb in the common hall. He takes his place at the high table and orders something to break his fast and a tray to be sent to Sansa.

“How is Sansa?” Robb asks right away. He learned what happened to her and his concern is palpable.

Sandor looks at his goodbrother’s earnest face and decides complete honesty is warranted. “Her wound will heal, though she may scar… but her losses have taken their toll. She is not the same woman I left. She needs time.”

Robb frowns, and Sandor takes a few moments to eat the sausage and potatoes set in front of him.

After a while Robb speaks again. “I have need of my bannermen Sandor, especially those I can trust.”

Sandor straightens in his chair at that. “Aye, your grace.” He recites his house words.  “Loyalty. Courage. Strength. I was loyal to your father until the very end. I will be just as loyal to you. You know that.”

“I do know it.” Robb’s blue eyes are serious. “I will need your oath later, when we deal with the traitors. For now, I need your council. Join me?” Sandor shoves in a gigantic last bite, grabs a horn of ale and follows Robb back to the small solar in the room he has taken.

They settle and spend some time catching up. Sandor gives Robb every detail of King’s Landing, and tells what he knows about the taking of Clegane’s Keep.  Sansa will be able to fill in the details later.

Robb states that Arya and Rickon are safe at Winterfell. Then he describes Bolton’s treason.

“Roose Bolton tried to take Winterfell at the same time Ramsay took Clegane’s Keep.  Had he succeeded the Bolton’s would have been able to wipe out the Stark line in a day. He came very close to slaying me, and even closer to killing Mother.  Grey Wind saved us both.” Robb pauses and balls his hands into fists. “They also sent men after Bran. Meera Reed and Summer protected him, but it was a close thing. Bran was injured Sandor.” Robb struggles with his anger a moment. “My brother will never walk again.”

Sandor is stunned and sorrowful. _He wanted to be a knight._

Robb goes on. “Now Roose is holed up in the Dreadfort. I would have dealt with him right away, but Ramsay had Sansa. My hands were tied until I had her back.”

Sandor scowls at the reminder, “Thank you, your grace.”

Robb waves a hand impatiently, “No need to thank me, she’s my sister, and no more ‘Your Grace’ in private brother.”

Sandor grunts and is just about to discuss the plans Robb has for the prisoners when Sansa walks in. For the second time that morning Sandor thinks how lovely she is, even a bit wane and bruised. Sansa’s hair flows down her back and she is dressed in a soft winter gown matching her eyes. The men rise to greet her, and Sansa goes to her brother. Their red hair makes them indistinguishable for a moment as they embrace.

“Sansa, thank the gods you are well sister. How fares my nephew?”

“He is fine. Thank you for coming Robb. I’m so glad you are safe too. Ram-,” She catches a moment on the name. “Bolton told me his father tried to take Winterfell.”

Robb nods and sits as Sansa takes a place beside Sandor before repeating his story. When her tears fall for Bran Sandor takes her hand.

It is decided that there will be an audience that afternoon. Robb will leave the next day for the Dreadfort. A siege could last months, and the sooner begun the sooner done. There is still the threat to the far north.

Sandor will stay at Clegane’s Keep for a short time. He needs new armor to replace what was lost in King’s Landing, and the Keep needs to be set in order after all that has taken place.  He will then bring Clegane men to join his king. Sandor also knows that Robb doesn’t wish to separate him from Sansa again so soon. He is quietly grateful.

Sansa

Sansa spends the afternoon with Jedrek walking in the godswood. When he grows chill she brings him into her solar. As she settles, Sansa studiously avoids looking at the lady’s chamber, facing her chair away. She doubts she will ever be able to sleep there again.

She is a bit lonely as she sews and Jedrek naps. She misses Arya and Rickon. She misses Lady.  She finds herself thinking of Catelyn. _How lonesome mother must be for father, and now Robb gone to war as well._ Sansa resolves to write and ease any worry in her own hand.

When it is time to dress for Robb’s audience, she does so carefully.  She wants to give an impression of strength, both to bolster herself and to show everyone that House Clegane is undaunted. Sansa chooses a grey linen underdress that is heavily embroidered in a pattern with silver thread.  Over this she wears a richly-colored goldenrod gown. The underdress can be seen at the front where the yellow splits and at the neck, where it gathers in the Northern way. At her waist Sansa adds a wide black belt with three dogs, also embroidered in silver thread.  The dress is very fine indeed, but it is not an ensemble she would ordinarily wear. Today, however, she feels armored in it, and ready to face Ramsay.

Sansa would have liked to style her hair a bit more elaborately, but instead opts for it half-up to try and cover her still-bruised neck. There is nothing she can do about the bruises on her face.

When she comes into the solar Sandor takes her hands in both his own. “Are you ready love?”

“Yes. Stay beside me?”

“Of course.” His grey eyes are hard, but he bends to kiss each of her hands reverently. “You have all the power here, Sansa. Say the word and Robb will let me gut the bastard.”

 _Yes, but he doesn’t want to, not before he has taken the Dreadfort._ Sansa only nods to her husband. Sandor then loops her arm through his and they go down.

Before they enter the hall, they greet Theon. “Sansa, you look beautiful,” he says sincerely, but when Theon raises her arm to kiss her hand, she winces noticeably.  Theon glowers and lowers her arm. “I’m sorry Sansa. Bastard deserves everything Clegane gave him and more.”

Sandor breaks in, his voice low. “Aye. Let’s go give it to him.”

For this night, Robb has taken the Clegane high seat, a large, squarely-built chair of ebony. He looks every bit the king at war. The crown on his russet curls is made of iron and bronze, with swords circling it. On his grey tunic a direwolf is embroidered in black and he wears black breeches, his sword, and a stern expression. Theon stands behind him, acting as shield. He is no Northman, but a loyal friend, and he has been careful to appear as formidable as possible on this day, it seems. Besides his sword, Theon fairly bristles with the sharp knives his people favor. His chain mail in plain to see under a heavily studded grey leather surcoat. The only concession to ornamentation is a large belt buckle depicting the Kraken of House Greyjoy.

Sansa sits to Robb’s left and Sandor stands behind her. He dwarfs Theon on the opposite side. She notices that his hand goes to his sword as soon as they enter the hall, and remains there. Sandor’s intimidating presence radiates through the hall, providing comfort to Sansa and prompting fear in others. _They are right to be afraid._ It will not go easy for those who have wronged them.

Before beginning Robb calls Sandor forward to pledge fealty. Once that is done Robb stands. “I am pleased to sit in the hall of House Clegane. House Stark has no more loyal bannerman, and as king I pledge that the suffering endured here will not go unpunished. Bring him forward.”

Ramsay is brought before them chained hand and foot. He is clean, and Sansa knows his cut has been stitched, but his nose and jaw have been forever ruined by Sandor’s fists, and when he smiles gratuitously upon reaching them, it is obvious that several teeth are missing.

Robb does not return the gesture. “What say you, Ramsay Snow?”

Ramsay’s smile falters. “I am a Bolton, legitimized by my own father. As such, you should keep me better than in the dungeons. I showed that much courtesy to the Hound’s bitch.”

“Courtesy!” Sandor roars. He stops short of descending the steps at Robb’s hand, but stands white-knuckled in his rage. “You dare speak of courtesy after what you’ve done!”

Sandor turns to Robb, “Your grace, this bastard dared threaten a babe, your own nephew. He did worse to Lady Sansa, your own sister, things I will not speak here. He committed treason against the North and would have seen us all dead.” He glares in hatred toward Ramsay, who stands in his shackles with his chin up in defiance. Sandor’s eyes flash and his voice is almost a growl. “He deserves worse than death. Your grace, let me deal justice for Houses Stark and Clegane.”

Robb nods his acknowledgement and addresses Bolton. “It is true that you deserve death for what you’ve done, and your vilest crimes were against my sister. If Lady Clegane asks it of me, I will see you dead.” Robb looks at her for a moment and Sandor stands close beside her. “However, your father is still in open rebellion, and you are valuable now as a hostage. What say you, sister? Do you crave his blood?”

Sansa rises, straight and tall, “If this man holds value to the North, your grace, then let him live.”

Robb faces Ramsay once more, “The Lady is generous, Bolton. Kneel now and beg her forgiveness and I will honor her gracious decision.”

Ramsay smirks, “This bitch has no power-“ He doesn’t finish. Sandor is down the stairs and backhands the man to the ground before he can finish the sentence. He grabs Ramsay by the hair and hauls him to his knees.

“His grace said kneel before the lady.” Sandor places a dagger at the man’s throat. Sansa hasn’t moved, her head held high as her mother taught her.

It is Robb’s turn to smirk, then his expression hardens. “Disrespect my sister again and die slowly. Apologize, or die slowly. Speak now.”  

Ramsay swallows, “My dear Lady, my deepest apologies for any discourtesy I have shown you. Please forgive me.”

Sansa says nothing, maintaining her outward armor.

 Robb speaks again, “By the grace of Lady Sansa you will see another day, Bolton, but you will not go unpunished. You took up arms against the North, therefore you will lose an arm.” Sansa sees Sandor nod in approval. “Normally I would carry out the sentence myself, but since my sister was so wronged, I think it fitting Lord Clegane swing the sword. What say you, my lord?”

Sandor smiles, “I think it a fine idea, your grace.”

Robb’s his face is as solemn and stern as any King of Winter, as solemn as their father’s, “I, Robb of House Stark, King in the North, do hereby find you guilty of treason. I sentence you to death, and until such time as the sentence is carried out, to the punishment of loss of limb.”

Ramsay blanches white.

They proceed immediately to the yard. It is deeply cold, and each flake of snow stands out in the torchlight. Endrew brings out a block. As he is manhandled toward it, Ramsay starts screaming, “I am a Bolton! My father will avenge me.” He turns once more to Sansa, a wildness in his eyes, “I only needed to break you. I break all my whores! We would have given my father an heir with Stark blood. A worthy gift! Worthy of a Bolton!”

He yells until Sandor steps into his line of sight, blocking Sansa. Ramsay flinches back.

Theon and Endrew wrestle Ramsay’s shoulder across the block, and Sandor is handed a large battle-axe. The bastard closes his eyes.  Sandor brings the fearsome weapon up and around in a single whooshing arc, severing arm from shoulder. Ramsay screams out with the sound of a dying animal. Sansa watches the blood splashing from his shoulder in spurts and does not turn away.

*****

Robb departs for the Dreadfort the next day, taking a pale and bandaged Ramsay with him. Sandor and Sansa farewell Robb formally in the courtyard, bowing and curtsying as the snow falls around them and their household.

Just before mounting Robb steps close to Sansa. “One more thing, a piece of good news to part with, sister.” Robb smiles. “Jeyne is with child. There will be a new Stark in Winterfell soon.”

Sansa smiles widely. “Oh Robb, that’s wonderful! A cousin for Jedrek. I will write Jeyne and congratulate her right away! She must be so happy.”

“Yes, I think so.” Robb smiles wistfully. “I hope to be back before the birth, but it is no sure thing.”

Sansa grasps his hands. “I hope so too.  Mother will take good care of her, but I know Jeyne would want you near. I will pray for her and the babe and for you.”

Robb leans over to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Sansa. Goodbye, sister.”

“Goodbye, brother, stay safe.” She kisses him back. Robb meets her eyes, squeezes her hands, and turns away.

Sansa watches him mount, memorizing the way he looks with the snow in his hair. _The last goodbye from this yard changed everything._ She feels the threat of tears, then Sandor is reaching around from behind her. He pulls her cloak more tightly closed and wraps her in his arms. It is an uncharacteristic display in front of others. _My love knows me so well._ Sansa leans back and enjoys the comfort of him as Robb and his host ride out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. : )


	9. Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor ties up loose ends at Clegane's Keep and joins Robb at the Dreadfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I hate this chapter. I published it once when I was very tired. Then I took it down and rewrote it, so sorry if parts are familiar!

Sandor

Sandor stands on the battlements of Clegane’s Keep, once again flying the yellow and black banners of his House. Sandor is talking with Endrew about the many tasks that need doing before he can rejoin Robb. First is the expansion of his men into an army.  Sandor will spend the next few weeks training his house guard in siege craft and pitched battles. Then they will travel with him to the Dreadfort. He will leave new men with Endrew to train, and they will be sent along as they are deemed ready. It is not ideal, but he owes his liege lord swords, and swords he will provide. Unfortunately, this means he cannot leave Sansa and Jedrek, not with only recruits for protection. They will have to go to Winterfell. _Sansa won’t like it. She thinks her place is here._ It makes him smile. Sansa is a fine highborn lady, strong, sometimes stubborn, and always kind. She is so good. Even now she is in the village, checking on the families that lost loved ones during Ramsay’s occupation, making sure they are fed and clothed.  

Thinking of Sansa reminds him of a task he wants accomplished before she returns, namely the removal of the hated metal ring in her chambers. He heads indoors to make sure it is done. Sansa will never sleep in that chamber again. He knows it, but he hopes it can still be a useful place for her. His plan is for the lady’s bedchamber to become a bower, and he has left the steward, housekeeper, and a lady’s maid in charge of the transformation. He is too late to check the progress. As he steps into the family tower he meets Sansa returning. _Hope the room is ready._

As they enter the solar Sansa notices the closed door and looks at him curiously. He nods in encouragement, so she opens it uncertainly. Sandor doesn’t realize he is holding his breath until he releases it at her smile. Sansa looks up at him in surprise, and wraps her arms around his waist. “Sandor! You did this? It is wonderful!”

Looking over her head Sandor sees a tapestry covers the hole where the ring used to be. There are also comfortable chairs and a plush carpet, a loom and supplies for all kinds of textile work. The room manages to be both elegant and cozy. It seems the servants know her well. He squeezes her. “It’s nothing, little bird. Now you won’t be able to tire of my bed.”

“I would never.” Sansa releases him and walks through the space, lightly running her fingers over the tops of chairs. He takes a moment to watch his beautiful dainty wife, her red hair falling past her waist. _Always so beautiful._ Finally, she returns to him and rises on her toes to kiss him.  Sansa smiles up at him again. “This will be a beautiful place in summer, with the garden in bloom under the balcony.” She grows wistful. “Maybe one day I will sew here with our daughters.”

Sandor imagines it. A circle of little red birds, safe in his home, and his heart swells. It still surprises him sometimes, the emotion she can bring out of him. Looking down at her tenderly, he bends to kiss her again, rasping, “Aye. That will be beautiful indeed.”

*****

The following day, after training, he finally deals with Follet. Sandor has never been one for flogging, but just now he relishes the lash in his hand. It is a fit punishment for the coward. The many scars on his men, the haunted looks of once-smiling maids, and the hurts Sansa and Jedrek suffered demand it.

It is snowing in the courtyard, as it has been constantly since he came home, but it doesn’t prevent a crowd from gathering. Sandor sees most of his guard, noting Iris and her Sil, then his gaze sweeps up to Sansa. She stands stoically in front of the ebony doors to the Hall. He knows she will not enjoy watching, after having been forced to endure a similar display by Ramsay, but she feels it her duty. _Something else to lay at the cunt’s feet._

Follet stands before the briefly re-installed post, ragged and stiff. Sandor turns to him with a scowl, tempering his desire to simply gut the man. He must play the part of lord now, so he calls out, his voice dripping with derision, “Ser Follet Snow, you are guilty of treason against House Clegane and the King in the North. Have you anything to say?”

“Nothing to you, Hound. Your father and brother knew how to rule, to reward loyalty, but you are weak. So weak you left a woman in charge over me.” Suddenly, he grows angry. “A woman over me!” He spits on the snow. “It was not to be borne.”

Sandor gives no reply, _I owe him nothing,_ just watches the man pull heavy irate breaths. After a moment he meets his eye. “As lord of these lands, I sentence you to suffer the fate you forced on others, thirty lashes and death.”

Follet doesn’t say another word as they half-strip him and secure him to the post. When it begins there is silence for a time, only the cracking of the whip and the wet smack of contact, but after only a few strokes the quiet is broken by shrieks. By the time he is finished, Sandor’s arm aches and Follet hangs bloody and unmoving. Sandor wonders if the man is unconscious, but when he walks forward a green eye peers at him from behind an upstretched arm. Sandor meets it for only a second, then swiftly pulls the traitor’s head back and slits his throat.

*****

Hours later, at the end of a long day, Sandor is glad to be alone with his family. Jedrek is sitting on his lap, thumping his palms cheerfully on the table.  The babe’s happy grin reveals four tiny teeth, and he has grown strong enough to pull himself up and stand by clinging to Sandor’s knee. Just now though Jedrek is only interested in the small bits of food in front of him. Sandor watches as his son uses a finger and thumb to carefully pick up a pea. He crushes it into such a globby mess that almost nothing makes it into his mouth, but Sandor still laughs when the tiny morsel that does is unceremoniously pushed right back out again with a little pink tongue.  Jedrek looks up at him accusingly as he smacks his mouth to rid himself of any last bit of the offensive green food.

“Don’t blame me, lad. Your mother says it’s good for you.”

Jedrek turns around and goes for another pea, seemingly content to squish them. Sansa sighs in exasperation, “These jarred peas are some of the last vegetables in the larder and he won’t touch them.”

“He’ll like them well enough when he’s hungry,” Sandor says, unconcerned.

Sansa huffs, and wipes uselessly at Jedrek’s green hands and mouth. She is quiet and he can tell she wants to say something. Finally, Sansa gives up and sits back. “Sandor, I’d like to have a small feast.”

It wasn’t what he was expecting. “I don’t know. You just said we’re low on supplies.” He’s not truly concerned about that. Sansa has the household well in hand and if anyone can manage it, she can, but there is a war on. Let it not be said that he feasts while battles are being fought.

“Oh, nothing extravagant! I just think it would cheer everyone after what happened, and I would like to welcome you home properly.”

“Sansa, I wasn’t gone that long, there’s no need.”

Sansa reaches over to lay her hand on his, “But there is! You saved so many lives by opening the gate from within, and I missed you so. The smallfolk deserve a celebration too. Didn’t you say they helped you get in?”

“Aye,” he says thoughtfully. _Iris should be rewarded and I can’t leave yet anyway._ His new armor needs to be finished and a myriad of other duties await his attention.

A glance at Sansa’s hopeful face decides him. _If having a feast to fuss over will cheer her, then so be it._ “Go on then, little bird, have your feast. A small one, mind.”

 Sansa makes a happy little noise and jumps up to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, love.”

*****

The feast is the following evening. Sansa creates a merry atmosphere with a crackling fire and many glimmering beeswax candles. The huge Clegane banner she made upon her arrival at the Keep has pride of place behind the dais. Sandor chooses several people to honor at the high table. Maester Barger sits to Sansa’s left for his role in saving Arya and Bran and guarding his family during the battle. Next to him is Jedrek’s nurse, who took care of his son during the days of Ramsay’s rule. To Sandor’s right sit Sil and Iris. Iris having shown him a place to enter the Keep undetected. Endrew sits with his men. Sandor cannot ignore that he was captain of the guard when the Keep fell. They have had many long discussions on improving defenses and training. The rest of the Hall is filled to bursting with smallfolk. The castle folk have places close to the high table, and below the salt are villagers.

Sansa has made sure every trencher is full of thick mutton stew, the gravy bursting with mushrooms, potatoes, and onions. Instead of the brown loaves she knows the smallfolk are used to, Sansa orders crusty white rolls made.  There are platters of cheese and raisins on the tables, as well as butter and apple jam. At the high table they have wine, and below there is ale and hot, spiced cider. Sansa even has a small sweet served, spruce-tip shortbreads. Sandor sends pails of the stew to the men on the walls, with rolls, butter, and ale. It is not an extravagant board, but it is winter and wartime, and everyone seems well pleased.

After the food, musicians from the village play. Sansa has an absolutely wonderful time clapping to the lively music the smallfolk favor. Sandor has just as wonderful a time watching her. He thinks she looks lovely in the Hall’s warm glow.

After a time, Sansa turns to him. “Are you pleased, my lord?”

“Aye, my lady. And you?”

“Oh yes.” She leans over to kiss him, blue eyes sparkling.

*****

Later, Sansa is already asleep, and Sandor is almost ready to join her when there is a knock on the solar door. He opens to find Maester Barger.

“Forgive me, my lord, a raven was waiting when I returned to my tower. I thought in times of war you should receive it at once.” Sandor takes the scroll and opens the door wider to invite the maester in.

By the waning light of the fire he looks at the seal. Black, no sigil. Inside is an official notice that has surely gone out to every corner of the Seven Kingdoms. There has been a Choosing. The 998th Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch is Jon Snow.

*****

After a moon’s turn at the Keep, Sandor moves to join Robb at the Dreadfort. The ride is bitterly cold, and Sandor is thankful for the fur-lined cloak and gloves Sansa made for him. He left his wife and son at Winterfell, and he is glad they are warm at least. Sansa had given him a teary-eyed kiss goodbye, but he felt good about leaving her among her kin. She never complains, but he knows Clegane’s Keep can be lonely for her. Sansa is the only highborn woman there, and he her only family old enough to talk. At Winterfell Sansa will be safe, surrounded by loved ones, direwolves, and an experienced guard.

The Dreadfort comes into view and Sandor turns his thoughts to the task at hand. It is a monstrous castle, as terrible-looking as its name. Where Clegane’s Keep is spread out with walls enclosing a large yard, the Dreadfort rises from the tundra like a slumbering giant. The towers are tall with ugly triangular merlons. They cluster clumsily together, so the overall footprint is small. Sandor can only think that it makes the place rather more defensible than his own seat.

Riding through the camp he observes the Northern army. They seem little the worse for wear after a moon in the field, though he is sure the supplies he brings from Clegane’s Keep and Winterfell will be welcome. He points out the area he wants his men to set up and goes on to find Robb.

The King in the North is supervising drills a little outside of camp. Upon seeing him, Sandor swings down from Stranger and bows, “Your grace.”

Robb clasps his arm in welcome. “Sandor. I’m glad you’re here goodbrother. Walk with me.”

Sandor and Robb move through the camp, Grey Wind with them. Robb points out defenses, greets the men, and talks with him about the Dreadfort’s vulnerable points. The talk turns to the Bolton’s themselves. “Ramsay is dead. Roose wouldn’t surrender for him. It was one of the coldest things I have ever seen.” Robb shakes his head. “He just turned away from his own son. I have the body facing the Dreadfort. It may help demoralize his men. If Bolton doesn’t care about his son he surely doesn’t care what happens to them.”

Sandor only grunts in reply. They finally stop at the top of a small knoll, out of earshot of those around.

Robb relaxes in the relative privacy and turns to him. “How is Sansa?”

“She is well, sends her love. I left her and Jedrek at Winterfell.”

“Good. Mother could use her company.”

Sandor nods. “You got the news about Jon?”

Robb grins at that, “Yes. What trouble has he gotten himself into?”

“No more trouble than you, _Your Grace_ ,” Sandor grins back, “Likely managed to make enemies of half the Watch and loyal friends of the others.”

Robb laughs, “Knowing him, his friends are the youngest, weakest, and ugliest of the lot.”

Sandor sobers at that, remembering a younger Jon, one who had tried to welcome a hurting boy back into their group. “Aye,” he replies simply.

They stand in silence for a few moments, looking out over the snowy encampment. Before long, their attention is drawn by movement on the walls. A white flag is raised above the battlements. In mere minutes Theon rides up, calling from the bottom of the hill. “Your Grace, Bolton got a bird. He wants to talk.”

Sandor and Robb exchange a glance. Assuming his role, Sandor follows his king off the small hill, hand on the hilt of his sword.

Sansa

Sansa is glad to be in Winterfell again. It is wonderful to see Arya and Rickon safe after they escaped Ramsay, and her father’s godswood soothes her soul. She spent the morning after Sandor rode out there, talking and remembering with her mother. Sansa finds Lady Catelyn much changed. She still loves and cares for her family, but she is withdrawn as well, and seems to have aged years.

Sansa puts thoughts of her mother aside for the time being. Today she promised the morning to Arya, and so she dresses for the outdoors again. They plan on hawking in the barrowlands south and east of Winterfell. Sansa looks forward to stretching herself, as she has been rather confined since Jedrek’s birth.

It is a lovely day. The snow has ceased for the first time in a moon’s turn, and streaks of blue even peek out from gaps in the grey sky. The breeze carries the scent of spruce and balsam from the distant wolfswood, and the fields they ride through are covered in snow, but their Northern mounts aren’t slowed by it. Nymeria is with them, playing and pouncing like a puppy, as well as a small contingent of guards who keep a respectful distance from their ladies.

Arya is joyous at her freedom. She smiles and laughs as her hawk, Balerion, swoops and dives and glides above them. Arya may never be considered a beauty, not with Sansa as a sister; but today, wild and unfettered, her hair blowing in the breeze, her cheeks red, grey eyes sparkling, and Needle at her hip, Sansa thinks her truly very beautiful.

Arya’s happiness is infectious. Sansa feels her spirits lifting. She holds her face up to the sparse sun and watches it sparkling on the snow-covered mounds around them. Sansa finds herself thinking of Sandor, being outside makes her feel connected to him somehow, like they are both under the same wide sky. He is well, and she is well. Atop her horse, Sansa finds herself grinning in the most unladylike way. Being here is fun. _Gods, how long since I have had time to play?_ She looks for her own hawk, Ruby, and is delighted to see her take a hare.

By the end of the day her bird has done nearly as well as Arya’s, and the sisters head back to Winterfell, breathless and exuberant.


	10. What the Future May Hold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battleground shifts, and the future is uncertain.

_Can’t say how the days will unfold_

_Can’t change what the future may hold_

_But I want you in it_

_Every hour_

_Every minute_

Sandor

Bolton surrenders. It turns out that he received news from the south. Cersei abandoned him, too preoccupied with the dragons descending on King’s Landing to worry about the North. Friendless, Roose has no reason to continue the siege to its inevitable end, and he only asks clemency for his pregnant Frey wife.

Sandor smiles when Robb takes the traitor’s head. He will be rejoining Sansa much sooner than expected.

Sansa

Bran has called for her. Meera and Jojen have finally departed, and Bran is much changed. He is only fourteen, but now he speaks with a kind of authority beyond his years. Even Robb speaks to him with reverence. Sansa holds her brother’s hand under the weirwood heart tree, patiently waiting on him. Bran’s eyes are white, he is clearly somewhere else. Finally, his blue eyes refocus on her. “Robb and Sandor are on their way back.”

Sansa blinks in surprise. “They are? It’s over so soon?”

“Yes,” Bran answers simply. They watch the steam rise from the hot pools for a few moments before Bran speaks again. “I’m learning things Sansa. So many things. I can see through Summer’s eyes. I can see through other animals too. I was just watching Robb and Sandor through the eyes of a crow.”

Sansa is bewildered. She isn’t sure what to say. “That…that is amazing, Bran.”

He smiles sadly. “It took losing my legs to fully open my third eye.” She doesn’t know what he means. “I guess I owe the Boltons in a way.”

Her eyes flash in response. “You owe them nothing.”

Bran squeezes her hand. “There’s more Sansa. I’m beginning to be able to look into the future. It’s fuzzy. I’m not good at it yet, but I’m trying. I wanted to ask you a favor. Would you mind, sister, if I practiced on you?”

She hesitates. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I’d like to look into your future. I think it may be easier with you. We’re siblings, we are at Winterfell under our heart tree. The conditions are right. Also,” he pauses, trying to find the correct words, “you are easier to read than Arya or Rickon, your future is steadier than theirs.”

Sansa doesn’t know if she should be offended, but the thought must show on her face because Bran tries to explain away her discomfort. “You are not less than them Sansa, you just have a different nature. You are gentler. You have found your mate. You have a home. There are many possible branches in your life yet, many ways things may go, but for now you may be more open to me than they are.”

Sansa hesitates, wondering if she truly wants to know what he may tell her. Finally, she nods.

*****

The next day when the armies return to Winterfell, Sansa runs out to Sandor, throwing herself into his arms. She doesn’t know when she will tell him what she has learned.

*****

The family gathers in Robb’s solar that evening, lazing before the fire in comfortable warmth. They are all happy the Bolton rebellion is taken care of. Jeyne is holding Jedrek with Robb by her side. She is just starting to show. Catelyn sits next to Bran, and Arya is in the floor with the direwolves. Sansa is leaning against Sandor with Rickon leaning against her. Her brother is unusually relaxed. She is lightly running her fingers through his auburn curls, and beginning to doze when there is a knock on the door.

Robb starts to rise but Arya is at the door faster than he can stand. She opens to the maester. The man bows, handing a scroll to her. She takes it and closes the door again.

“It’s black, from Jon!” Arya smiles happily.

Robb grins in return. “Go on, read it then. Let’s see what the new Lord Commander has to say.”

It is not what they would have wished to hear, and the atmosphere changes at once. The Wall is in peril. A massive army of wights is on the march, due to reach the Wall in perhaps a fortnight. The wildlings, free folk as Jon now calls them, have asked to be let through ahead of the threat. Jon has allowed them to settle in the Gift, so long as those able to fight join the black brothers’ struggle against the dead.

_They will not be enough. Not nearly enough. Robb, the North must be defended and the Watch is too few. We cannot defend the length of the wall against such a foe. I must ask you to call the banners. Hurry. The dead do not sleep._

When she is finished Arya raises her eyes to the room. Jeyne is trembling, Robb’s hands holding one of hers. Catelyn sits unmoving and Bran looks around the room. Rickon is sitting up beside her and Shaggy has come to stand beside him, green eyes glittering with menace as a low growl rumbles through him. Sansa meets Arya’s eyes as she feels Sandor’s arm tighten around her.

Sandor

 _What do the fuckers want?_ The question circles in his head. _Why now, after thousands of years?_ He has never fought a foe he doesn’t understand, and it unsettles him. How to fight an enemy when you don’t know their goal? How to defend against their next move?

Robb answers Jon’s call. Many of his bannermen are already at Winterfell, and they make ready to march. Robb and Jon exchange many ravens and the news does not improve. There are giants in the ranks of the dead, beasts of all kinds, and the Others bring back anyone who falls in battle. The Wall is three hundred miles long, and it must be constantly patrolled or they risk not even being present where the wights try to breach.

Bran tries to help, but he is outmatched. The Night King, as they have come to call him, seems to know when Bran is watching. The future is unclear. For now, Bran only sees a massive struggle, one that will only be decided after a war that far surpasses anything they have seen in their lifetimes.

They march in two days. Sandor trains hard, prepping his men, and strategizing with Robb. They know fire kills the wights so the maester helps them devise some traps and weaponry along those lines. Sandor goes to bed each night exhausted.

Sansa

The day after Jon’s letter Robb calls for Sansa. She enters his solar with some trepidation. She is unsure why she was summoned, but she knows it came from the King, and not her brother Robb. He is fixing a seal on parchment as she enters, but he looks up with a smile and rises.

“Please, Sansa, will you sit with me?” he asks, moving toward the fire.

“Of course.” Sansa takes her seat.

Robb sits in another chair before the hearth. He leans toward her and takes a breath. “I must ask you for a favor sister, an enormous favor.”

She nods for him to go on, fidgeting with her hands.

He doesn’t waste words, but looks her in the eye. “Sansa. I need you to rule in my absence.”

She is shocked. “You need me to rule? What of Jeyne? What of mother? What of Bran?”

Robb shakes his head. “Jeyne is not of the North. She knows little of my bannermen. She is with child, and I would not have her under stress. Mother,” he pauses, then abruptly stands to pace. “Well Mother is not herself. I fear her grief has taken her will for such a thing. Bran is not a possibility. He is not of age. I did speak to him, but he says it is not his fate to lead. You, though, you have shown great strength at Clegane’s Keep and great capability.”

Robb stops pacing to face her, his blue eyes seeming to will her to understand. “Sansa, you are of the North, it is in your blood. Will you be the Stark in Winterfell, sister?”

Sansa can only nod. It is a huge undertaking, but she will not deny her brother. She rises and crosses to him, taking his hands. “Of course, Robb. If you need me of course I will.”

Relief floods Robb’s face. “Thank you. I will announce it tonight.” He leads her over to the desk then. They spend the afternoon speaking of accounts, and loyalties, and defenses, and how to support the men at the Wall. By the time she leaves to dress for dinner Sansa’s head is swimming. _What have I gotten myself into?_

_*****_

It is the last night before the armies march. Sansa does not feel like a regent now. Instead, she finds herself terrified for Sandor to depart. Somehow unable to beat down the fear that threatens to consume her. She knows she shouldn’t give in, she should be strong for Sandor. She should farewell him with a kiss and a smile, but after what she’s seen and heard, this time she just can’t. This isn’t like when Sandor rode for King’s Landing with her father. It isn’t even like when he rode to the Dreadfort. Her husband will be facing enemies the likes of which she can not imagine. They bring the very forces of nature to bear; darkness, cold, and storms, even mastering death itself.

Lying in bed with him, Sansa presses herself as close as she can against his bare chest. He holds her tightly, sensing her need, and she can do naught but sob.

Sandor

He is leaving in the morning and his wife is beside herself. He knows her anxiety from the ordeal with Ramsay has never truly left her, though she hides it well from all others. His heart goes out to his little bird as she trembles against him. When her weeping hasn’t subsided after minutes wrapped in his arms he is at a loss, unable to find words of comfort that aren’t a lie. He finally focuses on the here and now.

“Sansa, little bird, I’m right here.” He rubs his hand soothingly up and down her arm.

“Soon you won’t be, and when you left with father…” Her muffled voice, coming from the vicinity of his chest, trails off, and her sobs renew. She haltingly goes on through her tears. “Sandor. I can’t. Those terrible creatures. The fire. The cold. I can’t stand the thought of you out there!”

He sighs. He doesn’t want to leave her like this. What the immediate future holds for them both, as well as what may happen, will be far more bearable if they part well. He needs to calm her.

Finally, Sandor draws from an instinctive place, or some deeply buried memory perhaps. He begins to sing very softly, voice low and gravelly. He knows no courtly songs, nor ballads. He sings what his life has taught him, a marching cadence, rhythmic and masculine. He calls the sergeant’s part, then repeats the men’s lines as they would do.

_A-round her hair, she wore a yellow ribbon_

_A-round her hair, she wore a yellow ribbon_

Sansa stills to listen.

_  
She wore it in the spring time, in her braid every day._

_She wore it in the spring time, in her braid every day._

_And if you asked her why the hell she wore it_

_And if you asked her why the hell she wore it_

He feels Sansa’s muscles loosen.

_She wore it for her soldier who was far, far away_

_She wore it for her soldier who was far, far away  
_

_Far away_

_Far away_

_Far away_

_Far away_  
  
_She wore it for her soldier who was far, far away_

_She wore it for her soldier who was far, far away_

He stops there, as the cadence doesn’t end in a way she needs to hear. Sansa is quiet and still in his arms. She pulls her head back to look at him, eyes still watery, but calm.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

He raises a hand to smooth her hair from her face. “I love you, my beautiful Sansa. You will be safe here. Knowing you and the boy are safe and warm is all I need. You mustn’t worry.”

She is not appeased. Her eyes are bottomless pools in her pale face as she looks at him. “Promise me you will return, Sandor.” He hesitates, and she goes on quickly. “Lie. Lie to me, my love, and tell me my husband will come home safe.”

He feels his resolve melt away. “Aye. Aye, wife. I promise I will return to you.”

She smiles then, a sad thing, and pulls him to her for a soft kiss. “I will be waiting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote a the beginning is from a song by Grant Gustin, Running Home to You.
> 
> Sandor's cadence is based off of a real one. It seems that each branch of service has their own version of it. Here is one of them.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NQjvQpcst9M


	11. The Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Night King attacks.

Sansa

Being Regent is as difficult and rewarding as Sansa knew it would be. She works constantly, arranging for provisions, seeing to refugees, and sitting court. Of late, much of her time has been devoted to diplomacy. It is crucial for Robb to maintain good relationships with his bannermen and Sansa is also speaking with her family in the Riverlands. She needs to be ready if Cersei moves against the North. The most interesting communications have been with the Targaryen, Daenerys Stormborn. Sansa hasn’t spoken with her directly, but some ravens have been exchanged. Daenerys has taken her ancestral seat at Dragonstone and will soon send her armies to retake the Iron Throne.

Sansa thinks of Sandor every minute. He has been gone a moon’s turn. In the evenings, when she is with Jeyne and her mother, she makes things. She knits woolen socks, sews fur-lined gloves, and quilts thick tunics. The best of her work is reserved for Sandor, especially since his build makes it harder for him to pull from the common stores. Sansa also often sends garments made to suit Jon and Theon. However, plenty of things are also sent for the common soldier; Clegane men, men of the Night’s Watch, and anyone who can use them. She knows they all stand to lose fingers or noses to the cold. The snows come down thicker every day. As Sansa bends over her work closely to finish a seam she prays to the old gods for her brothers’ victory and Sandor’s safe return.

Sandor

Sandor stands atop the Wall, a horn slung across his chest, and the frigid arctic wind gusting around him. He has stood many watches in his fortnight at Castle Black, each drearier than the last. _This could have been my lot._ If not for Sansa, he might very well have ended up taking the black. The Night’s Watch would have kept him away from Gregor, and it is a place where broken men and second sons can rise high. He feels his already dour mood darken even further at the thought of his early life, one of loneliness and pain. _Damn me. The cold is driving me mad._ He pushes the useless musings away, and instead thinks of Sansa. The free folk would call her “kissed by fire.” He just calls her beautiful. He does have Sansa’s love, and he has a son. If the dead breach the Wall they will both be in grave danger. He will not let that happen. After his time on the Wall he truly understands what that would mean.

***

The afternoon he first saw the wights Sandor ventured beyond the Wall to clear trees. He was cutting and sawing with all the rest and he remembers thinking, _“Seven hells. How can I sweat and be this fucking cold at the same time?”_ As he took a drink from a skin kept warm next to his body Sandor realized that the cold was growing more intense by the minute. The wind had picked up too, and the sweat that ran into his eyes had frozen, hardening in his hair. He grew uneasy. He traded his axe for his sword and peered into the forest, struggling to make out shapes in the dim light of the ancient woods. Despite being a seasoned warrior he was startled by the sudden appearance of bright magic-blue eyes in the dark. It took him only a blink to react.

“WIGHTS!” he bellowed, and those around him took up the call, swiveling to face the threat. More and more of the creatures appear through the trees. The nearest one looked to have been a spear wife. Wisps of long brown hair hung from the desiccated skin of her head, and she was covered only in rags and bits of fur. The wight carried a long bone dagger, and her hands were completely black. Sandor thrust without thinking, burying his sword between the once-woman’s ribs. It didn’t slow it. She raised the dagger and Sandor was forced to use his hands to stop her stab. Touching her even through his gloves was sickening, but he put one hand under her putty-colored chin, forcing her head back. With the other he grabbed the wrist with the dagger. The wight punched with her free hand, the black fist hitting him like a block of ice. It was a short fight though. Sandor had eighteen inches on the creature. He forced the hand with the dagger down, and shoved her away, simultaneously pulling his sword free from the cage of her bones. It was then quick work to take her head. The corpse was struggling to rise as Sandor backed away from the forest, issuing commands as he looked left and right to assess the situation.

“GET IN THE OPEN! AWAY FROM THE TREES!” He could hardly see by then, the snow was whipping around him so thick and wild, but the wights kept coming. It was a small army. Sandor hacked at two and pulled a young man from where he had fallen in the snow, shoving him toward the Wall.

“TO THE WALL! BACK TO THE GATE!” he roared as loudly as he could.

Afterward, Sandor was livid. He went directly to Jon’s solar, storming through the door. “You, Lord Commander, you let us go out there with useless weapons!”

Jon shook his head, and stood his ground. “We don’t have enough dragon glass.”

Sandor didn’t like his answer. “The men can’t fight like this Snow! They will be slaughtered!”

Jon rested his fists on his desk, leaning over heavily. “I know, Sandor.” After a moment he raised his head. “From now on the dragon glass will be shared, and no one goes below without it.”

***

Sandor shakes off the memory and refocuses on his task, scanning the tree line of the haunted forest for movement. There has only been a few such skirmishes, and no sight of the Night King’s great army. The dead are overdue. Everyone is growing restless, but he knows they can well use the delay. Even with the bannermen who came with Robb, the Wall needs more men, more supplies, and more dragon glass. Jon sent ravens throughout the seven kingdoms for aid, but it is unclear who may answer the call. Sandor has little faith in any of them.

In another fortnight the darkness comes. Sandor is once again on the Wall with Robb, Jon, and Theon beside him. As the army emerges from the trees their blue eyes shine only a moment before being eclipsed by the swirling storm. The snow and wind become so thick so quickly that when the Watch sounds the three blasts for Others, Sandor can no longer see his goodbrothers standing an arms-length away.

The battle is fierce. The gate is held by the few men with Valyrian steel and dragon glass. Robb and Jon take that position, direwolves by their side. The huge beasts seem to be made to rip apart wights. When the first gate falls it is Grey Wind who protects the men’s retreat to the second gate. His huge form seems to fill the tunnel, yellow eyes aglow. Beside him the normally unnerving red shine of the Ghost’s eyes is bolstering now. Their snarls echo from the icy walls, and they are the last through before the men close the new perimeter. Once that is done black brothers use murder holes to kill as many wights as they can from above.

Sandor and Theon defend the top of the Wall. Sandor commands the trebuchets flinging burning pitch. Theon commands the archers with fire arrows. It is hell. A frozen burning hell. Fire surrounds Sandor from all sides. Huge braziers barely seem to pierce the gloom yet the smoke and ash choke him, and every time a flaming barrel goes hurtling past him Sandor can’t help but flinch. His pulse seems to throb in his scars. Yet he doesn’t falter, directing the men to aim at the giants and mammoths. And there is so much more. The Wall’s defenders are harassed by ghastly undead birds. Eagles and hawks swoop from the snowy sky to tear at their eyes. Huge ice spiders scale the Wall before the men are hardly aware of them.  Defenders are pulled in by the long legs and pierced by fangs dripping venom. The creatures knock over braziers and destroy trebuchets. They send scores of men screaming to their deaths as they are shoved from the Wall. Sandor fights madly to keep the lines from breaking. His new dragon glass sword is covered in the black blood of the spiders, although it is distinguishable from the blade only because it runs thickly over his glove. During the chaos, Sandor finds himself back to back with Theon, pressed together by attacks from both sides before being separated again.

Sandor doesn’t know how long the battle rages. Time becomes irrelevant. He and his men have fallen back twice to rest. As it goes on giant fires are built behind the Wall for the bodies of the dead. It is hard to get them there before they reawaken, so the men resort to flinging their brothers from the Wall so they can be burned quickly. _We’re all brothers of the Watch now,_ he thinks, and can only wish that he didn’t have to burn.

Then, in the midst of madness, there is a blast. A long, deep sound like a ram’s horn. It is so loud that men fall to their knees, trying desperately to cover their ears. Sandor feels the Wall shake beneath him, and there is the unmistakable sound of ice cracking. When the sound dies he stands and shouts, “RETREAT! GET OFF THE WALL! NOW! NOW!”

Sandor herds his men toward the switchback stair, shoving them, and yelling the orders. He knows the call is being repeated along the length of the huge structure, but there are a thousand men and only one stair. Suddenly he feels a hand gripping the front of his wildling coat. Sandor lifts his sword until he sees Theon. They join those rushing down the stair.

At the bottom they meet Jon Snow and Ghost. Jon pulls him close, still shouting to be heard, “Get Robb away! I’m going up to alert the Western lines.”

“I’m going with you!” The wind whips his words away, but Jon hears them.

“No! Robb is the King! You must get him back to Winterfell.” Sandor shakes his head and grabs Jon’s coat in return. Jon shakes him off and Ghost backs him away with a growl. “The horn will sound again. The Wall WILL FALL!” Jon Snow takes a step backward. “I am the Lord Commander! This is MY duty! You have your own Sandor, to your King and to my sister.”

Sandor doesn’t know why, but he knows Jon is right. Unbelievably, the greatest structure built by man will fall to the sound of a horn, and the dead will flood the seven kingdoms, starting with Winterfell. _Sansa. Jedrek._ He meets his goodbrother’s dark eyes in the storm.

“Farewell Sandor.”

He hears himself reply, “Farewell Brother.”

Jon disappears with Ghost, and Sandor sprints to the stables in search of Robb.

Two more trumpets and the Wall does fall. Robb, Theon, and Sandor observe from a short distance away. Jon and Ghost are the very last to leave the Wall. They are still on the stair when the last blast sounds. Sandor watches from Stranger as Ghost pushes Jon to the ground and stands over him, using his massive body to shield his human brother. He watches as Jon wraps his arms around the direwolf’s shaggy white neck before they disappear together under tons of falling ice.

“No!” Robb shouts. Grey Wind moves to the front, staring intently at the spot Ghost disappeared with knowing yellow eyes. Sandor realizes Robb is on the brink of spurring his horse back to the Wall. He reaches out and grabs Robb’s bridle.

The king turns on him, lost in grief and rage, and draws his sword. “Release me!”

Sandor holds his ground, his raspy voice ringing out. “It’s over! Robb Look! The dead are already coming through!” And they are, the first wights are crawling over the rubble like so many insects. “We must protect the North now. Goodbrother! Think of Jeyne and your babe! Think of your family.”

Robb looks at what is left of the Wall, blinks, and seems to come back to himself. He looks Sandor in the eye as he sheathes his sword and nods.

Sandor releases Robb’s horse. They wheel about and ride hard for Winterfell.

Sansa

Sansa looks up sharply when it comes. A tremor, a reverberation that seems to shake Winterfell from its very foundations and then rattle through her bones. At the same instant the direwolves howl. Nymeria, Summer, and Shaggydog raise their voices in a terrible sound. Sansa rises swiftly. She lifts her hem and rushes to the tallest tower. At the top Arya and Rickon are already watching as a huge black storm rises in the distance. Sansa moves to stand between them, the wind whipping her hair back, and takes a hand in each of hers. The Starks look to the north, and watch as Winter descends.


	12. Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war comes to Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is about it folks! I hope you enjoyed!

Sansa

When the North’s army begins to arrive at Winterfell Sansa and her family rush to the yard. She sighs in relief when Sandor is one of the first through the gates. _Thank the gods._ She rushes forward and is in his arms as soon as he dismounts. Sandor leans down and wraps his arms around her, enveloping her with his body.

“Little bird,” he rasps close to her ear.

Sansa finds Sandor’s lips with her own and kisses him deeply, heedless of anyone watching. When they break apart she searches his face. _He is exhausted!_ Sandor is pale with snow in his beard and even his scars. “Come inside, love, and get warm.”

Sansa stays close to Sandor’s side. As they enter the Great Hall he rasps, “How is the boy?”

Sansa squeezes him with her arm. “Jedrek is safe and well, growing stronger every day.”

She guides Sandor toward a chair, but he shakes his head and she hears Robb behind her. “We needs must speak in private. Let us go to my solar.”

Once there Sandor slumps into an armchair with a grunt. Sansa hands him hot mulled wine and kneels unabashedly next to his knee. She wants to be as close to him as possible. Sansa takes one of Sandor’s hands, delighting in his strong calloused fingers, in being able to touch him again.

Robb enters with Jeyne and the rest of the family, along with Theon, soon join them. Sansa can wait no longer, “What news? We felt a tremor of sorts, it ran through the very walls, and we see the blackness that follows you.”

Sandor doesn’t mince words, “The Wall has fallen.”

Sansa sees Jeyne cover her mouth with her hand.

“Then all the men, even the Watch, are coming here?”

“Aye.”

Sansa looks around, “But then, where is Jon?” She starts to rise. “We must greet him and bring him here.”

Sandor grips her hand tighter and she turns to him in confusion. When Sansa meets her husband’s eyes, so grim, she understands, “Oh gods, not Jon!”

 _He saved me once._ She can picture him in her mind. _He is so like father._ Sansa feels herself begin to tremble as tears spring to her eyes. She buries her head against Sandor’s thigh and feels his large hand on her head.

The room is silent for a moment until Arya asks, her voice tight, “What happened?”

Robb explains. “The tremble you felt was the Horn of Winter. The Night King used it to bring down the Wall. Jon knew what it was, what would happen. He got everyone away. He and Ghost were the last off the Wall. They were caught when it fell.”

 _It sounds just like him, putting everyone else first._ Sansa raises her head and see her sister’s chin trembling. _Poor Arya._ Arya and Jon were extremely close. Sansa rises to stand by her, taking her sister’s hand.  

Robb watches them, then his gaze moves to his heavily-pregnant wife. He pulls her closer even as his face grows hard. “We must secure Winterfell. The dead harried our rear the entire march back here. They are right behind us.”

The air in the room seems to thicken at his words, everyone readying themselves for what will come. Before anyone can move, Sansa steps forward, “I may have something that can help.” All eyes turn to her, and she pulls a black shiny object from the pocket of her dress, holding it forth.

Theon leans forward to look, “Dragon glass. Where did you get it? Is there more?”

Sansa smiles in satisfaction. “There’s more. I’ve been writing to Daenerys Targaryen. She would have the North as one of her kingdoms should she win the iron throne. She came herself from Dragonstone with a load of dragon glass, but she could not stay. The fighting in the South is too heavy.” Sansa tosses the small piece to Theon. “I’ve had it made into weapons.”

Robb fairly beams. “Well done Sansa.”

A defense is quickly organized. Sandor will escort Lady Catelyn, Sansa, Jeyne, Bran, and Rickon to the top of the Great Keep’s tower, collecting Jedrek as they go. Arya refuses to join them. She is angry for allowing herself to be left behind when the army went to the Wall. Sansa suspects she feels some guilt for Jon’s death and tells her that she couldn’t have prevented it. Sandor tries to tell her too, but she is adamant. In the end it is decided that Arya and Nymeria will help defend the Hunter’s Gate.

Once they reach the tower Rickon cries and screams to go with Sandor, “I can fight! I am a Stark too!” Rickon is so angry he is shaking, and Shaggy growls so threateningly that even Sansa is afraid to go near him. Sansa’s heart goes out to the youngest, wildest Stark. _So fierce and so afraid._  

Catelyn takes Rickon’s hand and tries to pull him back, but Sandor shakes his head at her. Instead Sandor goes to one knee before Rickon. “Aye. You are a Stark, little brother.” Rickon stands still to listen, but under his tousled red hair his tear-streaked face is stern and wary, “If things go ill, then you and Shaggydog will make sure the Starks survive.”

Rickon considers this seriously a moment, looking around at those in the room. Finally, he puts his hand on his dragon glass dagger. “Shaggy and I will see to it, just as you say. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.” Sandor nods solemnly and stands.

Bran straightens then and calls to Sandor, “Summer will go with you. I’m a warg, after all, not just a cripple. We can help.”

“Bran, are you sure?” She turns nervously to be brother.

Bran regards her sadly, “Yes, sister. It is as it must be.”

With all decided Sandor draws Sansa aside. He takes Jedrek from her arms, seeming to relish this small chance to be hold his son. Sandor leans close to her. “Don’t leave this room for anything Sansa. If they break through Shaggy really is your best defense. I saw what the direwolves can do at the Wall.”

Sandor’s grey eyes stay fixed on her until she nods, then his expression softens just slightly. “I wish I’d had more time with you and the boy.”

Sansa caresses his scarred cheek, pushing his hair back from his face, “Gods be good we will soon have all the time in the world.”

Sandor pulls her close with one arm and kisses her. Then he passes Jedrek back to her, kissing the top of his son’s head as he does.  Sandor turns quickly, calls for Summer, and is gone.

The occupants of the tower know as soon as the battle starts because it grows dark and bitter cold. They can’t see the yard far below and the wind screams, yet over that a great din can still be heard. When crashes resound from directly below them, everyone knows the tower itself is under attack.

Sansa rushes to Bran’s side and shakes him, “Bran! Where is Summer?” Bran doesn’t respond, his eyes are white, so she pulls his dragon glass dagger from his belt and faces the door. Rickon and Shaggy stand to either side of her. Her mother and Jeyne with Jedrek stay close to Bran. When the door bursts open Shaggy is on the wights in an instant. He tears and shakes their cold bodies apart in a frenzy of movement, all teeth and flashing green eyes. It seems only a small group, but then they see the White Walker. His body gleams like ice and the room grows even colder as he approaches. It is instantly apparent that the Other is interested only in Bran. He advances with singular purpose in his glowing blue eyes. Sansa and Rickon try to slow him but he flings them to the ground, not even bothering to draw his sword.

Jeyne shrieks and Jedrek cries. Lady Catelyn moves to stand before her entranced son, grandson, and gooddaughter. The stiff length of her spine recalling to Sansa the pride and strength her lady mother has always shown. “No!” she commands. Cat flings her arms out to her sides in a protective gesture and raises her chin. The Other regards her for the briefest of moments, and then his blade slides through her heart as easily as a fish glides through water. Sansa and Jeyne scream. _Mother!_

Sansa scrambles to regain her feet. _Old gods protect us!_ She raises her blade as the Other turns to Bran, but before she can reach him the creature releases a blood-curdling shriek of its own. It stiffens and falls to its knees, crackling and fragmenting until it seems to explode into fine white dust. Left in its void is Rickon, still clutching his dagger with white knuckles. Sansa locks eyes with her brother as she catches her breath, then hastily scans the room. Shaggy is finishing off the last of the wights, holding it down with a huge black paw while he crushes its bones. Seeing the danger is past, Sansa rushes to her mother. She knows at once Catelyn is gone, and she cradles her head in her lap as the tears come. In death her mother’s face is smooth with the serenity she lost when Ned preceded her.

Sansa raises her head Bran’s blank face. _You were right brother. You knew a mother would be lost, just not which of us it would be._ Bran is her brother and Sansa will always love him, but today a part of her cannot help but fear him as well.

Sandor

The battle rages as the one at the Wall did, but now Sandor is surrounded by wights and White Walkers as well as fire. He slays a particularly nasty wight just as Summer appears by his side. The direwolf looks at him intently and turns, clearly meaning for Sandor to follow. He does, and Summer leads him to Robb, Theon, and Grey Wind.  Sandor takes in the scene and sees why Summer brought him. They are closing in on the Night King. The creature is mounted on a ghastly horse at the top of a small rise.

With a roar Sandor cuts down the nearest wight and rushes forward to join them. Robb sees him and nods, and from the king’s other side Theon grins as he battles. Together, they hack their way forward step by step. At one point Theon, looking down at an armless corpse struggling to rise, comments wryly, “My people tell it true. ‘What is dead may never die.’” Sandor grunts as his dagger pierces a wight’s eye and his sword slashes another’s gut open.

When they reach the Night King the two direwolves circle behind him while the three men advance from the front. In a blink, Summer and Grey Wind leap forward and bring down the undead horse. The men waste no time. They attack furiously while the Night King is on the ground. The creature is incredibly fast and strong. Theon is struck and goes down, but even the dead have only two hands. The Night King parries Robb’s next blow, but Sandor is right beside him. With one powerful swing Sandor beheads the Night King.

It is like a spell has been reversed. The Night King shatters like glass, and a gust of air sweeps out from the place he falls. That wind spreads in all directions, stirring the snow as it passes. As Sandor watches, the undead army fall all around them, Others and wights alike.

*****

A sennight later, when the dead have been burned and Lady Catelyn laid to rest, Sandor sits with Robb and Theon in the king’s solar. They drink in companionable silence. They brought the Dawn, and while there is still so much to be done, and mayhaps a war yet to fight in the south, Sandor thinks they have earned a moment of peace.

After a while, Theon straightens in his chair and looks over at them. “I’m off in two days, after the feast.”

Robb starts to protest, but Theon holds up a hand. “I’ve healed enough to travel, and I’ve been too long away. I needs must return. If I’m gone any longer, I’ll be like to find my sister on the Seastone Chair.” He smiles and them with him. They know he and his sister Asha are close despite a rough beginning.

Robb laughs, “It’d be in good hands then.”

Theon nods, “Better than mine, mayhaps.”

Sandor takes a drink of wine and looks at Robb. “I’m ready to return to Clegane’s Keep as well. If Your Grace has no more need of me.”

Robb leans over and claps him on the shoulder, “Go on then, both of you. Leave me to run the North on my own.”

Sandor smirks, “You’ve always got Arya. Between her and Rickon any southrons are like to turn tail before they reach the gates.”

Robb smiles fondly, “That I do.” He grows quiet for a moment and adds. “In truth, I will miss you. You are loyal friends, both.”

Sandor raises his wine in salute and rasps, “To the brothers we choose.”

“The brothers we choose.” They all drink.

Sandor is about to rise and join Sansa when there is a knock. A maid enters and curtsies before turning to Robb. “Pardons Your Grace, Lady Sansa wished me to inform you that Queen Jeyne’s confinement has begun.”

Robb’s eyes widen and Sandor and Theon grin. In a moment he regains his speech, “Is my lady well?”

The maid gives a smile, “Aye, Your Grace. It’s still early, but Queen Jeyne is healthy. Lady Sansa, Lady Arya, and the maester are attending her.” The maid curtsies once more and makes her exit.

Robb sits in astonishment a moment longer before his eyes turn towards his friends, “I’m going to be a father.”

Theon laughs, and Sandor leans back with a smile, “Aye, that’s what happens when a woman gets with child.”

Robb seems not to notice their teasing, “I’m going to be a father.”

Sandor and Theon end up spending the night keeping Robb company. It is not traditional in the Westerlands, where Jeyne is from, for a father to attend the birth so Robb respects that. However, the more hours that pass the more nervous Robb becomes. The king paces the solar as Grey Wind whines softly from beside the fire. Sandor feels for him. There is little he can say to ease his goodbrother’s worry, especially since Jedrek’s birth nearly cost Sansa her life.

Near dawn there is finally a knock at the door, and a disheveled Sansa enters. Robb eyes her anxiously, and when Sansa smiles widely his relief is palpable. “You have a daughter, brother!”

Robb steps close to her, “And Jeyne?”

Sansa continues to grin, “All is well. Go to them.”

Robb sprints out the door and is gone.

Sandor stands and wraps his arm around Sansa’s waist, kissing her red hair. “You’ve had a long night, little bird. Tired?”

Sansa leans her head against his chest and smiles, “Not as tired as Jeyne. Oh Sandor, her daughter is beautiful!”

“Has the queen chosen a name?” Theon asks.

Still smiling, Sansa nods, “Catelyn.”

Sansa

The feast held in honor of the North’s victory is put off for a sennight to allow for the Queen’s recovery, so the Cleganes and Theon hold their departures as well. When it occurs, the feast is a huge success. The warriors of the North are honored, and the whole affair is even more merry than anticipated, since they also celebrate the birth of Princess Catelyn Stark.

Sansa is so proud of her husband when he is called forward. Robb praises Sandor’s battle prowess, his bravery and good sense at the Wall, his loyalty, and of course his defeat of the Night King. He seems to suffer it all stoically, bowing low before Robb when it the king is finished. _Sandor has made Clegane a name of honor._ When he returns to his place beside her Sansa takes his hand and squeezes it, smiling up at him. She knows Sandor well enough to see he is pleased as well. He even gives her a wink before returning his attention to Robb.

*****

The next morning dawns bright, the first clear day in many a moon’s turn. Sansa throws the shutters open despite the cold, and she and Sandor take a moment to appreciate the sun glittering on the snow. After a moment Sandor’s arm coils around her waist and he pulls her back against him. Sandor carefully moves her hair aside and begins kissing a warm trail down her neck. Just as his lips reach her shoulder there is a knock.

“Buggering hells.” Sandor grumbles and Sansa giggles. “Good thing the weather is fine little bird, because we are leaving today. This castle is too bloody crowded.” The page shrinks back as Sandor throws open the door, then stammers his message. She and Sandor have been asked to break their fast with Robb and Jeyne.

When they enter Robb’s solar Jeyne rises to greet them, kissing Sansa’s cheeks warmly, and smiling at Sandor. He returns a small bow. Robb pulls the chair out for Jeyne and speaks as he takes his own seat, “There was a raven.” Sansa raises an eyebrow in question. “Daenerys Targaryen has taken King’s Landing. Cersei and Joffrey are both dead.”

Sandor grunts in appreciation next to her.  He was in the throne room when Joffrey killed her father. “Best news I’ve ever had while breaking my fast. The girl has cut the head off the biggest snakes, but the city is still full of vipers.”

Robb nods agreeably, “Yes. I hope she’s ready for what she’s getting into. There’s more as well. Daenerys wants me to bend in the knee, but in light of father’s last trip south she is coming to Winterfell for the negotiations. And as an additional gesture of goodwill she is returning Ice to us.”

Sansa drops her knife in her excitement, making Jeyne giggle, “Oh Robb! Father’s sword, that is wonderful!”

“Indeed it is, Your Grace.” Through her happiness Sansa notes Sandor’s lapse into formality. She knows he regrets not being able to save Ice when he fled King’s Landing. This probably means almost as much to him as it does to her.

“The talks will still be difficult. I am not inclined to step aside, but we have time to prepare. In order to bring a retinue Daenerys must wait for spring to make the journey.”

“Will she still bring her dragons?” Sansa carefully asks.

“I don’t doubt it.”

She swallows at that and Sandor seems to stiffen. She forces herself to smile at Jeyne, moving the conversation forward. “If there is any way we can be of service, please ask.”

Jeyne smiles, “Of course, dear Sansa, but now your breakfast is getting cold. I will not send you home on an empty stomach.”

Sansa resumes buttering her forgotten toast. Her face brightens as she says cheerfully, “And I must see my sweet niece once more before we’re off.”

They spend the rest of the meal talking like the family they are. They speak of their children and make plans for the spring that seems just around the corner.


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life goes on.

It has been over three years since the end of the wars. Spring did arrive more quickly than anyone could have imagined, and Daenerys Stormborn and her dragons journeyed North. In the end an alliance is formed. The North will remain an independent nation, but leal to the Iron Throne.

Sansa loves this garden. It is a unique feature of Clegane’s Keep, one few others even know exist, a southron-style Lady’s Garden. It is directly below the balcony of the Lady’s Chamber, now her bower, and was planted by Sandor’s grandsire for his wife. There are pebbled paths that pass between manicured hedges. There are rose gardens edged in lavender, and in the center a gurgling fountain surrounded by stone benches.

Sansa smiles watching Jedrek run down the paths in front of her. He is four now, and already pulling away from her. If he could Jedrek would spend all day every day with his father. Sandor indulges his son as often as he can, taking him to tour the villages, and letting him watch the men training. He has even gifted the boy a wooden sword. When Sansa frowns at her son’s boldness or tries to shelter him overmuch Sandor just grasps her hand and shakes his head. “Jedrek will rule here. Let him be.” She thinks such a thing is hard to imagine as she sits on a bench and watches the boy form pebble roads for his wooden horse to travel.

Sansa closes her eyes and raises her face to the warmth of the summer sun. A smile plays across her lips, and she allows her hand to lie across her stomach. She has a secret. A wonderful blessing she wasn’t sure would come to pass a second time, and one she can’t wait to tell Sandor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Copious thanks to all who have read this story. <3 <3 <3


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